


Shards of Redemption

by Gharnatah



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artillery, Duelling, Early 19th Century Weapons, Gen, Light Angst, Lots of OCs - Freeform, No Romance, Politics of the 1820's, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24550504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gharnatah/pseuds/Gharnatah
Summary: After escaping arrest following a murder, Fantine finds herself in the Royal Army disguised as a man. As she finds a new life for herself among the artillery, the wheels of history begin to turn, and France poises to invade Spain for a second time. Among the war and festering liberal sentiments among the Army itself, will our heroine live to see her daughter again, or will she perish under the sweltering heat of the Spanish sun?
Comments: 15
Kudos: 5





	1. Misery - A revalation - The vase - Broken glass -  A sacrafice

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for the cliche summary. It sounded a lot better in my head. I've been writing the first five chapters of this story since August of last year, but my insistence on getting the first few chapters of this story done with before submitting was what kept me. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this story. My writing is extremely amateurish compared to others in this fandom, but I hope everyone gives this a chance.

**Montreuil-sur-Mer – 1821 – Late Autumn**

“ _They were staring again_ ”, Fantine noted, as she hurried back to the tenement building that she lived in with a burnt loaf of bread in her arms. Whenever she went out of her home, she was stared at by the ordinary townspeople. Some gave passing glances. Others looked down on her like trash. Ironically enough, it was these same people who had treated her as an equal just a year ago when she was still employed at the Mayor’s bead factory, so why were they so cruel now?

It began to snow, so Fantine quickened her pace towards her home. Upon returning to her room, she was met with her elderly neighbour, Marguerite, seated at the plain wooden chair at the bedside.

“Hello, dear.” Marguerite said without looking up from her needlework.

“Hello, Marguerite.” Fantine smiled. It was good she at least had Marguerite to return to. The old spinster often lent Fantine her ear to voice her grievances and offer advice when needed. Without her, she would be utterly lost. Fantine took a seat at her bed and broke the bread in half, offering one piece to the older woman.

“I should be alright,” Marguerite said, “Trust me, a young girl like you has more need of food than I do.”

“Ah, but Marguerite, what are you saying?” Fantine replied, taken slightly aback.

“I’m old. It’ll be my time to leave this world soon, after these long years. But you? You’re young. You’ve still got such a long time left to live; it would be a true shame if your livelihood was wasted on me.”

“What nonsense!” Fantine retorted, “Of course it wouldn’t be wasted on you! It’s just… I can’t rest easy knowing a friend is suffering for my sake…”

“Dear, for me, suffering is just another form of penance.”

“That sounds silly… I…” Fantine sighed, “I’ll just eat then. I’m sorry.”

The two began working on their linens after Fantine was done eating. But as they worked, Fantine found it difficult to continue working as hard as she normally did. Her thoughts kept drifting to the bead factory. What exactly happened there? Had she not made the utmost effort to keep the existence of her daughter a secret? Who was it that found out?

“Something on your mind, young one?” Marguerite asked, snapping Fantine out of her head.

“No. It’s nothing.” Fantine quickly replied, getting back to work.

“Usually, ‘nothing’ doesn’t have people staring off into wonderland. What’s the matter?”

“I…” Fantine stopped what she was doing to find her words, “I was just thinking… why should a someone like me be condemned to this fate? What have I done wrong?”

Marguerite stayed silent.

“This is cruel,” Fantine continued, her voice becoming shaky, “Who could ever wish for this life on anyone?”

Marguerite put her linens down and moved to sit next to Fantine on her bed. She placed her right hand on Fantine’s shoulder.

“I don’t even remember why I came here!” Fantine had begun sobbing, covering her face in her hands.

* * *

The next day, Fantine made her way over to Montreuil’s fort, to deliver the linens that she and Marguerite had worked on. They weren’t paid much, but roughly 1 Franc and 4 sous for one day of work by two women was enough to live a meagre existence. Fantine took most of the money. Marguerite didn’t require much anyways. But regardless, it still wasn’t enough to meet her debt payments. Her daughter’s caretakers were demanding 40 Francs for an illness that Cosette, her daughter, had developed. The furniture maker was threatening to get the police on her if she didn’t pay him for her furniture soon and her landlord was getting irritated by her inconsistency in payment and threatened to put her in one of the building’s garrets.

Fantine could find no one to blame but herself for the predicament that she was in. She tried her best to hide that she had a daughter, but the truth still came out. In the end, the only one responsible for her predicament was herself, and she failed. She failed Cosette. She failed her own ambitions. She even failed as a mother.

Maybe she never should’ve left Paris. There was plenty of work there, right?

 _‘Why was I such a fool?’_ she found herself asking, inside her own head.

The doors to the town fort were opened by a one of the soldiers of the garrison, who gestured to Fantine to bring the linens to him. Somehow, he looked just as miserable as her. Maybe she’d be in the same position as him if she were a man.

She was paid 1 Franc and 6 sous, which she took back to her room. Marguerite took the 6 sous, and Fantine set aside the 1 Franc for her debts.

As she sat down to work, her mind began to wander again.

On her way back home, she saw a glimpse of one of the factory women she worked with. A rather miserable old crone who went by the name ‘Madame Victurnien’. Fantine remembered her from her time in the bead factory. Once she had claimed Fantine was putting on airs, and she gossiped a lot as well.

Aha! Mme. Victurnien was the one who was laughing when she was summoned to the foreman’s office the day she was fired!

Could it be that Mme. Victurnien was the one who discovered Cosette?

No, it made a lot of sense now that she thought of it. All that gossiping and bullying from the other girls started to make sense. They were all conspiring against her! Just like the Mayor!

Fantine’s laughter filled the street, as onlookers passed bemused glances her way.

* * *

“Ah!” Fantine quickly brought her pricked finger up to her mouth.

“Careful now, dear,” Marguerite said, “You looked like you were going to snap at any minute, so I didn’t say anything until now.”

“Oh…” Fantine said, “I was just thinking that’s all.”

“You do that a lot these days.”

“No, it’s just that this time I think I finally have all this figured out. The person responsible for getting me into this mess.”

“The mayor?”

“No. Well, yes! But not him directly.”

“…Yourself?”

“That’s what I used to think before now,” Fantine smiled, “There was a woman at the factory who gossiped often with the other girls. She was never particularly pleasant with me, and I remember her laughing at me the day I was fired.”

“That doesn’t seem very convincing.”

“I know,” Fantine paused for a moment, “I know, but I believe it to be true.”

“Now why is that?”

“You weren’t there, Marguerite! She really was horrible!”

Marguerite said nothing and continued her sewing work. The two eventually turned in for the night after exchanging their pleasantries.

The next few days weren’t pleasant. The furniture maker had asked the police to confiscate the furniture that Fantine had bought on credit, and later, her landlord had told her to move to a garret room since she wasn’t paying enough for her old room. Fantine now worked in Marguerite’s room, which was just as barren as her own, save for a single glass vase that rested on the nightstand, and a small wardrobe cabinet that, judging by Marguerite’s attire, was most likely empty.

Fantine coughed into her arm, interrupting her needlework. And then again. And again, until her back started to hurt.

“Are you alright, dear?” Marguerite asked out of concern.

“No.” Fantine replied in a blunt manner.

“Well, I hope you get better. Medicine is getting expensive these days.”

“I know. Remember when I told you how those yokels down in Monfermeil were asking for 40 Francs to buy medicine for Cosette?”

“Oh, I remember now! Something about a military fever, was it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Well, have you figured out a way to get the money?”

“There was a strange doctor outside who was telling me he’d buy people’s teeth. I was considering…”

“Don’t do it, Fantine.”

“But I- Marguerite, there’s nothing left!”

Marguerite sighed, “Fantine, dear, do you see that vase on the nightstand?”

Fantine looked to her right, and sure enough there it was, the only decoration that adorned Marguerite’s spartan room.

“I want you to take it and sell it.” Marguerite said.

Was she just giving away her only possession of value?

_Why?_

Marguerite chuckled, “You must be asking yourself, ‘Why is this old hag giving me something so valuable for nothing’, right?”

“Huh…?” Fantine was at a loss for words. Marguerite read her well.

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

Fantine smiled sheepishly, “Well… I didn’t call you an old hag, but…”

“It used to belong to my older brother,” Marguerite looked out through the window with a nostalgic smile, “Our father was a sailor in the navy, and passed away in the War of 1778, and my mother took her own life after hearing news of his passing. So, it was my brother who raised me. He was a craftsman who worked with glass, but he struggled to make a living once the revolution began. I remember him becoming increasingly desperate for my sake. Selling things left and right, working menial jobs, falling into debt, and then… he died of consumption.”

Fantine had a downcast expression on her face as she attempted to console her elderly friend, “Marguerite! I never knew, I’m terribly sorry!”

“It’s fine, Fantine. That vase was the last one he made before he had to sell his workshop. I always kept it near me ever since. I’m giving it to you. You have far more need of it than I do.”

“But why are you giving this to me? It belonged to your brother!”

“The reason I’m giving it to you should be obvious. I see him in you. Before me sits a girl struggling to provide for her daughter, and on the verge of selling her teeth to buy her medicine. It should only be appropriate for me to part with this vase to prevent someone from falling into the same fate as my brother.”

“Marguerite, thank you!” Fantine gave the older woman a tearful hug.

* * *

“The trick to selling things of value, is that you need to butter up the person you’re selling too!” Marguerite said to Fantine, “That way, you can sneak in a better price when they’re in a good mood.”

Fantine changed the subject, “I still feel kind of selfish for selling your brother’s last vase. What are you going to remember him by?”

“This again?” The older woman sighed, “I told you I don’t mind. If I want to remember him by, I still have some of his old clothes.”

“His clothes? Why hold onto something like that?” Fantine asked, slightly bemused.

It was a rare cloudless evening and despite the cold, Montreuil still had people conducting their everyday affairs. The town market remained open and the various stallholders continued to sell their wares while the townspeople casually strolled the streets. The perfect day to sell off the old vase.

Fantine found that carrying the vase around town attracted unneeded attention from others. It was the usual stares she got from the townspeople, mixed with amused quips about her being a thief. It all had no effect on her anyways. She was used to it by this point. These people didn’t know her any more than they knew the rumours that surrounded her, how could they know better? They’re just showing a reasonable reaction to someone who could be dangerous. That’s just the way people are. It doesn’t bother her. It shouldn’t bother her.

Bloody hell, what was she saying? Of course it bothered her! Denying it only made her more bitter. She hated this town. She hated the mayor. She hated that god damned factory. She hated those stupid black beads, the vapid people that worked there, and all their gossip. She hated all these stupid village idiots who couldn’t just mind their own damn business!

Most of all, she hated herself.

She hated herself for being stupid. For not being careful enough. For being dumb enough to fall for a rambling moron like Tholomyès. For believing she could somehow make it alone in the world.

“Fantine are you alright?” Marguerite asked with a concerned expression.

Oh, what was she thinking! After this, she’ll go home with enough Francs to make sure Cosette can get medicine. If she’s lucky, she’ll have some left over to use by herself. Not everything was bad.

“Yes, of course, what do you mean?” Fantine replied, slightly shook from getting thrown out of her head.

“Well, it’s just that your arms were shaking and, oh! Do you want me to carry the vase instead, dear?”

“No! No, it’s fine! It would be rude of me to make you carry it.”

“Well, we’re almost at the pawnbroker, anyhow, just past the church here.”

“Oh… right.”

“Was something on your mind again?”

“Sort of.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing important.”

The pawnbroker was a small man in his fifties. He inherited the shop from his father thirty years ago and was never as good a buyer as his old man. This led to him wasting good money on worthless junk and earning himself a reputation among the town as being a professional sucker.

Marguerite knocked on the front door and then opened the door. She turned around and gave Fantine a smile, “Just wait out here for a bit. I’m going to talk to the owner for a minute.”

She entered the store and shut the door behind her.

Now alone, Fantine walked over to the wall and leaned against the rough stone surface. Maybe watching the townspeople go on their business could kill some time. Across the street, there was a little girl spinning a hoop with a stick while her mother watched.

The scene made Fantine’s chest hurt, and a sad smile emerged on her face.

_“That could have been me and Cosette…”_

Fantine looked away from the woman and her child and tried to focus on something else.

To the left, she could see the factory women that she once worked with returning home. Their light-blue uniform-dresses set them apart from the rest of the pedestrians. Fantine couldn’t help but remember that she too, was among them, happily returning home from a day of honest work. She remembers it too well. Being gleeful at her first payment. Not having much troubles with the innkeepers Cosette lived with. No problems with debts.

Until _that woman_ found out about Cosette. Just the thought of her made Fantine grind her teeth.

“Fantine! Is that you?!” a voice that sent a surging chill down her spine called out.

Speak of the bloody devil.

“Oh, hello, Madame Victurnien.” Fantine averted her gaze to the floor and tightened her hold on the vase in her arms.

Victurnien’s shrill laughter pierced Fantine’s ears, “I knew I smelt a rat somewhere, and look what I find!?”

Fantine remained silent. This woman was the cause of her current situation. Maybe, if she ignores her taunts, she could figure out why Victurnien did this to her.

“My, my, Fantine! This new look suits you quite well, does it not?” Victurnien continued, looking down her nose at Fantine, “You were so beautiful when we worked together at the factory, whatever happened to that?”

“I had to cut my hair so I could…” Fantine found herself losing her words.

“So, you could what? Send money for that girl of yours?” Victurnien began cackling, “How pathetic!”

“…Why?”

“Why what? Speak up!”

“Why are you so cruel to me?!” Fantine spoke up, “I… I never did much of anything wrong at the factory. I just wanted to work, and you took that away from me!”

A look of utter contempt formed on Victurnien’s face, “The reason is because I hate you.”

No way that’s it. There must be more to this.

“So why the gossip?” Fantine asked, “Why did you need to go and tell everyone I have a little girl? Why couldn’t you just leave me be?”

“The reason I hate you is because you’re some spoiled city brat who comes here acting like a noblewoman! You think you’re so much better than everyone else, when the truth is, you’re just a shameless harlot!”

“A harlot?! Me?! How dare you! You’ve no idea what I’ve been through!”

Victurnien laughed at Fantine’s newfound bravado, “Hahaha! Do you hear yourself speak? You’re a tramp who acts like a high-class Parisian! If you really want proof that you’re a harlot, go to that village you send letters to and see that disgusting mutt you spawned with your very own eyes!”

Fantine’s mind went blank. She was unable to think, nor could she find the words to express her anger.

She just insulted Cosette. She called Fantine a harlot, that’s fine. But she dragged Cosette into it. She called her a mutt.

In that moment, Fantine’s body felt weightless. Suddenly, the vase she carried wasn’t that heavy, and she found it incredibly easy to lift it over her head.

Madame Victurnien was lying. She never put on airs, Victurnien only hated her because she was a hateful person. That’s all. There’s nothing more to it. How else could someone just flat out insult her daughter like that? She was a miserable old crone who was not worth speaking to.

The loud shattering of glass had snapped Fantine out of her own head.

Before her, lay a most horrible sight. Madame Victurnien lay limp on the ground, soaked in her own blood as the shattered remains of Marguerite’s vase lay strewn across the floor in endless pieces. Her face reflected a petrified expression as if it were frozen in time. It was a sight that chilled Fantine to the core as the millions of bloody shards glistened in the sunset. Was this her own doing?

“Fantine!?” Marguerite left the building only to see a grizzly sight, “Jesus Christ! Fantine what…?”

“I… I- I don’t… I- I didn’t…” Fantine found it impossible to even utter a single word. There wasn’t really anything she could deny, could she?

She killed someone. She committed the vilest act known to mankind. She took a life in her own terrible rage. What kind of a monster was she?

Fantine felt Marguerite grab her arm. She turned to face her, only to be yanked away as the old woman ran them both faster than she’s ever seen an old lady run before.

The whole experience through the various alleyways and hidden streets of Montreuil felt surreal.

Time had passed Fantine by, and in the next moment of her life, she found herself sitting in Marguerite’s bed, starting at the floorboards with her head in her hands.

She had done something truly despicable. There wasn’t any excuse for her in the law. The only punishment that awaited her next was the guillotine.

Now what would become of Cosette? She’ll be forever known as the daughter of a murderer, wouldn’t she?

Fantine’s tears began to freely drip to the ground. Marguerite, who had been previously looking out the window turned to face the younger woman, “Fantine.”

Fantine began rubbing her eyes.

“I want to let you know one thing,” Marguerite continued, “I don’t think badly of you for what you did.”

What? Why?

“Marguerite… I’m a monster now… you’ve seen what I did! There is nothing left for me but execution!”

“It was my fault for not taking you seriously. That was the woman you were talking about before, wasn’t it?”

Fantine nodded, “Madame Victurnien. I- I don’t know what came over me… I- she insulted Cosette and then I… then she was dead…”

The old spinster walked over to the wardrobe cabinet and opened it wide enough for Fantine to see inside.

Inside, there was a full men’s dress. A yellow coat, grey trousers, a shirt, a pair of plain brown boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. Marguerite placed the clothes on Fantine’s lap and placed the hat on her head, “Hurry and put these on.”

“What?”

“Put those clothes on.”

“But why?”

Marguerite sighed, “You’re far too young to get thrown under the guillotine. I know what you did was unforgiveable, but I want you to learn that you don’t have to be the monster that you think you are now.”

Fantine was at a loss for words. What does she mean? What kind of joke is this? Didn’t she see her in front of Victurnien’s corpse?!

“I want you to live, so that you can live past this part of your life and see your daughter again. So, hurry and put these clothes on.”

Marguerite was right. Fantine desperately wanted to see her daughter again. Sitting around crying wasn’t going to do anything.

“Wait what are the clothes for? Do you want me to disguise myself?”

Marguerite nodded, “You need to leave town as soon as you can.”

Fantine grabbed the clothing and began undressing as Marguerite took her place at the window and stared outside.

It was sunset already. People were all probably going for a drink or going home. Much of that was probably ruined for whoever was around to witness Victurnien’s death. She didn’t see any police yet but finding the culprit couldn’t be a difficult task for such a small town.

“Alright I’m done,” Fantine said, “How is it?”

Marguerite looked over at Fantine, “They look a bit oversized, but you’ll manage. Those are the clothes I told you I kept around, remember?” She paused, “But I guess now I have no use for these sorts of things. Not where I’m going.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, dear. You should probably head out now. In the coat pocket, there’s my brother’s identification papers and one Napoleon. That should get you through any problems.”

Sure enough, there they were. The papers, and the coin, just as Marguerite said. Fantine gave Marguerite a sad smile, “So this is farewell, right Marguerite?”

The old woman nodded.

“I see… well… I promise we’ll meet again!”

“Farewell, Fantine.” Marguerite smiled, as Fantine stepped outside. She gave one last look at her friend before shutting the door behind her.

Marguerite was now left alone. She got Fantine to leave. That much was done. Now there was only one thing left to do. Turn herself in and take the guillotine for her friend.

As she walked through the freezing street to the police building, she wondered how Fantine would use that life she saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin. The next two chapters will go by really quickly. I have about 20 chapters planned for this story, but there may just be less. Fantine is my favourite character, and it makes me happy to write a story featuring just her. I tried my best to capture Hugo's style of writing dialogue, but I think somewhere along the line, I gave up and you might be able to see it happen in this chapter itself. The next chapter is complete, but I'm going to hold off on posting it for a day or two so I can see if it needs any last minute touch ups.
> 
> Fantine will be the only major character from the book appearing. There will be a lot of OC's. Just a heads up, since I know many people don't like OC's.
> 
> I also want to apologise for the contrivances in this chapter. There's many things to criticise this chapter for, including my stiff writing style and emotionless dialogue, so if you're a more experienced writer, I'd really appreciate it if you could leave me some tips.


	2. An alias - Enlistment - Old Marie - Making friends - The Liberals - Her sword - The War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one read the last chapter, which probably either means I uploaded at a real bad time, or my worst case scenario of this story being doomed to unpopularity came true.  
> Disclaimer: This specific chapter is a mix of two different drafts, so if my writing seems inconsistent, that's the problem.  
> Also, Étaples is a port town that's north of Montreuil-sur-Mer.

**Étaples** **– January 1822**

The office was small. It was nestled between a tenement and a café and consisted of only two rooms. The front room was used as the actual office while the backroom was just a small lodging for the clerk. There was a window that peered out into the street and the sea beyond. But at this late of an hour, nothing was visible. The room was lit (and warmed) by a single candle.

The half-asleep desk clerk looked over the ID papers in his hands, and then lay his gaze on his client.

“Let’s just go over this quickly,” He yawned, “Your name is Ulysse Dupin. You are eighty-five. Born on the fifteenth of July. One seventy-nine centimetres tall. You’re a glassworker, and your father was a sailor.”

Fantine’s head was completely blank. How was she supposed to know those papers would be totally different from who she really is? She can’t read!

“Lad,” The clerk said, “This is obviously not you. Just go home.”

His gaze pierced right through her, as the exact words she knew were coming but still didn’t want to hear came anyways. She shook in her seat, suddenly feeling the cold of the room. It’s over. She’s done for. He’ll have her arrested and she’ll be stuck in jail to pay for her crimes.

Wait a minute… pay?

Fantine fished out her gold Napoleon and placed it on the table, “C-can we just let this slide?” She asked with a grin.

“Are you kidding me?” The clerk looked at Fantine with an expression of disbelief.

She gave a tight-lipped nod.

And then winced as the clerk burst into a roaring fit of laughter.

Fantine sunk further and further inside her coat in attempt at hiding her shame.

“Jesus, you’re serious, aren’t you?” he said as he collected himself.

Fantine nodded again. Which caused the clerk’s smile to fall back into a scowl.

The clerk groaned and reached under his desk for a fresh sheet of paper, “Look, I’m not doing this because you paid me. I’m doing this because you’re an idiot who tries to enlist for military service with his grandfather’s identification papers.”

He dipped his pen into the inkwell and then began writing, “Let’s start from the beginning. What’s your name?”

“Eh...” Come on, think of something!

“Well?”

Well, now that Marguerite’s brother was her grandfather, it wouldn’t hurt to assume his name.

“It’s Ulysse Dupin! I was named after him, actually! Haha, that’s why… you see, I just used his papers.” She grinned.

He wrote it down, “Alright, when were you born?”

Good question. When was she born? She knew she was born in the winter of 1799, since that’s when the people in Montreuil said she started appearing on the streets. But that could mean either January or December. December it is.

“The thirty-first of December 1799.”

“Ok, twenty-two years old. Next is your height…”

The process of filling out the criteria took a few minutes, but at the end, Fantine had a legally backed alias.

“Alright, we’re almost done,” The clerk said, putting his pen down and resting his head on his fist, “I’ll make a copy of this and send it to Town Hall. But first…”

He slid the paper over to her and handed her the pen, “Sign your name at the bottom.”

Oh! That was easy! She couldn’t write, but she did know how to sign her name!

She proudly scratched her name onto the parchment and put the pen down. She smiled, having felt genuinely accomplished.

“…Fantine? Isn’t your name Ulysse?”

She froze in place again, and the room suddenly became unbearably stuffy.

“I- um… it’s- no- that’s actually…”

“What?”

“It’s actually my middle name!” She blurted out, loud enough to wake the neighbours.

“Alright! Alright! Keep it down! By Jove, give me break already…”

“S-so…. It’s alright?” Relief hit her like a truck hitting the protagonist of a Japanese light novel.

“Yeah,” he picked up his pen and began writing in her middle name at the top, “You should’ve told me instead of making a scene.” He grumbled.

“Aha… sorry. It’s a bit late.”

The clerk got up from his seat and yawned, “Whatever, you can go now. Just be back here by noon tomorrow.”

* * *

The door to the office swung open, allowing a blast of cold air to flood the room.

Fantine shut the door behind her as fast as she could and coughed into her arm.

“There you are,” The clerk placed Fantine’s papers onto the table, “Here’s your stuff.”

She took a seat at the desk, “Thank you, sir.”

The clerk looked up, “Oh, right, I haven’t introduced myself yet. Emile Riou.”

Now that it was the day, Fantine was able to take the office in. Aside from the desk at the centre of the room, there were three bookshelves on the wall to the right. The wall to the left contained a painting. Of what? Well, it was a man clothed in the blue uniforms of Bonaparte’s armies, leaning his arm on the top of what looked like a very large feather duster. He posed in front of a cannon and a few horses.

“Hey, Dupin!”

Fantine snapped to face Riou, “O-oh, sorry, did you say something?”

“Why do you want to join the army?”

Make up an excuse. Come on! Make up any excuse! Come up with something!

She had no answer.

Riou sighed, “Nothing to say?”

“Well, I need a job…”

“No glasswork in town?” He raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head, “The reason I wanted to join is because I want to earn a name for myself with a job that has true honour!” She spoke in a tone of faux haughtiness. 

Riou looked at her with a doubtful expression, “That’s a lie, come on, tell me the real reason.”

“I… thought the uniforms looked handsome… and it looked like a respectable job… so…” She stared at the floor.

Riou leaned back in his chair and chuckled, “Well… you’ll be joining an absolutely pride-less institution filled with washed up Bonapartists and criminals. So, are you still sure you want to join the King’s Army?”

“Are you saying it’s not a good idea to join?” She asked, starting to feel discouraged.

“Nnnnnoooooo…. It’s just that….” Riou’s eyes drifted to the right as he searched for the right words, “It’s not going to be what you expect.”

He cleared his throat, “Well, let’s just move on to the next question. What do you want to do in the army?”

Huh. That question had a simple answer, “Make money?”

Riou scoffed, “No, you fool, I mean what specific job do you see yourself doing?”

“Well, I imagine I’d do something that man in the painting does.” She pointed to her left.

“Oh. The painting?” Riou looked to the painting on the wall, “Ah, that’s supposed to be an artillerist. You want to be in the artillery?”

She nodded.

“Alright, why not. If Napoleon were still around, I’d laugh and send you home, but King Louis’ Army has zero standards.”

Now that she thought of it, Napoleon was defeated in 1815. That was the same year she went to Paris.

It’s funny how life throws little coincidences like this. Her life only became worse once he left office. Now here she was. Signing up for the very institution that Napoleon was the master of, on a total whim, just to escape the law.

Maybe, just maybe, things will go well for her this time.

“I forgot to ask; can you ride a horse?” Riou asked.

Huh? Where did that question come from?

“Why do you ask?”

“Because the only place I can assign you right now is the horse artillery.”

* * *

**Early March 1822, Bayonne, Southwestern France**

The **_BANG_** of the cannon choked the air with a thick cloud of gunpowder.

“Alright lads, one more shot, and we’re done.” Said Corporal Drouet, the officer in charge of the 6-man team. Fantine placed the ram rod on the ground next to her as she took a seat. Who knew they’d drop the hardest part of operating a cannon on to her? Her ears rung. She began coughing from the smoke. She should’ve known what she was getting into when she told Riou she wanted to be a cannoneer. Damn him for not telling! The man in the painting was the rammer, the one who did most of the back-breaking work with cleaning and loading the cannon. And now here she was, all the way in the south, performing drills every day and killing her ears.

“Worm and Sponge!” Drouet called.

That was her cue. She gritted her teeth as she stood up. It’s not so bad. This was the last one until they turned in for the day, and besides, she’s getting paid. Fantine picked up the Worm (a metal cleaning rod) and jammed it inside the cannon. Her job here was to pull out any charred remains from the last explosion. Once that was done, she went over to pick up the Sponge (a cloth cleaning rod) to clean the inside of the barrel. She then returned to her position to the right of the cannon.

“Charge!”

That was the cue to the ammunition handler. The ammunition handler was a boy named Jacques. His job entailed standing around a basket containing all the ammunition charges and bringing charges of gunpowder to the crew as well as watching the horses. He was 17 years old and joined to continue his family’s centuries long tradition of serving in the Artillery. His bright eyes clashed with his dark hair, which was hidden under his shako. He stood out, personality-wise, among his crewmates, as he was the only one who seemed happy with where he was and optimistic for the future. He sort of reminded Fantine of her own self at his age. He placed the charge inside the barrel of the gun and returned to the ammunition.

“Rammer!”

Again, her cue. She picked up the Rammer (a wooden rod meant for ramming) and pushed the charge down the barrel of the cannon. She then returned to her former position.

“Load!”

Their loader was a man named Guillaume. His job was to place the cannonball inside the barrel. He was a lanky man who towered over everyone else, but his thinness removed any semblance of intimidation that could possibly come from him. He was very soft-spoken, and he didn’t have much of a presence aside from his height. He pushed the cannonball inside the barrel and returned to his post.

She was signalled to ram the ball down the barrel, which she did. Once she returned to her position, Drouet put down the book he was reading and approached the cannon himself. Corporal Drouet was the officer in charge of the group. He also took the role of the aimer, which was supposed to belong to another artillerist, but was put on him thanks to said artillerist’s resignation. Drouet was a short man with an equally short attention span. He looked a bit older than Fantine. One would often find him staring into space when not tasked with something. He had well-groomed, wavy red hair, and his blue uniform was kept in good shape. He produced a pair of opera glasses from his coat pocket and knelt behind the cannon. Their target was a brick wall situated 400 meters away on a low-lying hill.

“It should be aimed right. If Old Marie here cooperates, we may just hit our target.” Drouet said as he stood up, “Alright, prime!”

The odd one in the group was Enrique, the ventsman. His job was to place his thumb on the cannon’s vent to prevent premature discharge during the loading process, as well as placing the fuse into place. He was a Spaniard who came to France during the Peninsular War. He looked a bit older than Fantine and he had brown eyes, and black hair. He uncovered the vent and pushed a prick inside to pierce the gunpowder charge. He then produced a quick-match and pushed it down the vent.

“Fire!”

That last crewmember was Gaspard, the firer. His job was to ignite the fuse. He was an insanely proud person and idolized Napoleon. But aside from that, he was mostly just a meathead. He was bulky, but that was his only defining quality. He raised the linstock over the cannon and pressed it against the match. The rest of the crew covered their ears in anticipation.

… Nothing so far.

“Damnit Ol' Marie! Light already!” Gaspard began pressing the linstock against the match harder.

“Gaspard, shut up and focus!” Drouet berated.

He took a deep breath and carefully positioned the linstock and tilted it towards the match.

The match took fire and the resulting **_CRACK_** obscured the area with a cloud of smoke.

“Did we hit it!?” Jacques asked, coughing.

As the smoke began to clear up, Drouet answered, “Oh, would look at that, we missed. That’s too bad…”

* * *

Fantine splashed the freezing stream water on her face. She had to admit. Waking up early in the morning wasn’t something she was particularly good at or fond of. Before this, she would stay up well past midnight to sew in the dim candlelight, which meant she usually woke up around noon. But this new schedule took her back to happier times, when she would wake up early with the rest of the _grisettes_ and work an honest job for honest pay. Though this new work was hard, she found herself smiling a lot more.

After Riou finished Fantine’s paperwork, she was put on a boat headed for Bordeaux, and upon arrival, took a carriage further south, to where the _Arm_ é _e Royale_ was stationed: the city of Bayonne. When she arrived, she was given a blue uniform, extra clothes, linens, a mess kit, a greatcoat (!), and a canteen.

She stopped to stare at her reflection in the stream. Her dark blue uniform looked sharp, she thought and since leaving Paris, this was the most respectable she’s ever looked. As if she really became her alias and escaped what she became in Montreuil.

That’s right! She was Ulysse Dupin now. That dastardly murderer in Montreuil was dead. Save for Cosette, all that mattered was making money and living clean. She just needed to keep her head down, make some money, and not get involved in anything dangerous.

A burst of frosty wind swept her face and forced her to cover it with the collars of her greatcoat. She decided to head back into camp, lest her cough returns with a vengeance.

* * *

“Alright, just stay calm and you won’t get bucked off!” Jacques called out from behind the fence.

Fantine tried to heed his advice, but the way the horse just moved on its own threw her nerves into a frenzy, “Ok… just stay calm and steady…”

“You’re doing great! Use your legs and go faster!”

Faster? Oh no no no no. No way!

“I-I don’t know about that!”

“Go on! Try it!” The younger boy called out, “You won’t fall!”

The horse she was on was a dark brown Hanoverian. This specific breed of horse was usually assigned to the Light Cavalry, but they were also assigned to the Horse Artillery, which Fantine belonged too and whose job was keeping up with Cavalry, requiring light and fast horses.

Only problem was, Fantine couldn’t ride a horse. All the riders she saw throughout her life made it look so easy. Who knew controlling this animal was such a nerve-wracking experience?

The horse sped up from a canter to a gallop and Fantine’s nerves got the better of her. She pulled the reins and was promptly bucked off the horse.

“Dupin! You alright?!” Jacques ran over to her wondering whether he did the right thing by telling her to go faster.

* * *

The army was garrisoned throughout the various barracks around the town. The one Fantine stayed in was a good way from town, which allowed enough space for artillery and cavalry drills. The result was that she was surrounded by the elitists in the cavalry, and the foot artillery, who saw the horse artillery as snobs themselves. From her table in the canteen she watched a loudmouth hussar arguing with an artilleryman.

“Hey, Dupin, can I ask a question?” The person asking was Enrique, the ventsman.

“… Sure.” Fantine said in a guarded tone.

“What made you enlist?” Never mind, not a particularly important question.

“There weren’t any jobs left in town.” She responded with disinterest.

“Oh, that’s it?”

“Yes. What about you?”

“I'm a political exile, and I’ve got a daughter. I’m here to make money and send it back to my family in Spain. I'm hoping to bring them over here some day.”

Huh? Wait, maybe she should tell him…

“Really? Oh, um… I’m sorry, but I lied to you.” Fantine admitted, “The real reason I enlisted is similar to yours.”

“Really?”

Fantine nodded, “I’ve also got a child, her name is Euphrasie,” It was a long time since she was able to talk about her daughter like this, and her beaming expression showed this, “But I call her Cosette! I had to leave her with some caretakers up near Paris. Now I need money to pay them.”

“Now that’s something I understand,” he smiled, “My little girl’s name is Costanza…”

* * *

“Um, Drouet, I have a question.” Fantine asked as she approached her commanding officer.

He looked up from his book, “Hm? What is it?”

“Can you tell me more about what we’re supposed to be doing?”

“You mean what our role is in battle?”

Fantine nodded, “Um, yeah, something like that.”

“Well…” He shut his book and looked upwards at the star filled sky, “We’re the horse artillery.” He looked back to Fantine, “Unlike the foot artillery, we horse artillerymen are meant to accompany the cavalry and offer them support in their tasks. That’s why we all have horses.”

“Ohhh, so that’s it? We’re part of the cavalry?”

“More like we’re a ‘highly mobile attack force’ that happens to work with the cavalry.” He cracked up at his language, “Those are Lieutenant Lebrun’s words, not mine.”

“So, what happens if Old Marie gets taken?”

“What we’re supposed to do is get on our horses and join the Light Cavalry. But there’s no way in hell I would do that. What I would do, is order all of you to surrender.”

Give up? Why? Isn’t their job to risk their lives fighting for the Crown?

“Are you saying we just give up instead of doing what we train for?”

“That’s right. I’m not planning on dying for the King.”

“Well… I- “

“Dupin, what do you think about the King?” Drouet said, cutting Fantine off.

What did she think of the King? She never thought much of politics at all. The most she did was nod along with Tholomyès when he went on his frequent rants. The days of Napoleon were happy enough, and she remembers that the Prussians had occupied Paris when she first arrived. But once she returned to Montreuil, the topic never turned up… until now.

“I… don’t. I don’t think I have any opinions on the King.” She admitted.

“Is that so?” Drouet perked, “Hold on, let me give you something...”

He pulled a folded slip of paper from his coat and placed it in her hands discreetly, “Read this.”

Read? But… “I can’t read though.” She said.

“Damn… I thought… Fine,” He looked around to make sure they weren’t being eavesdropped before speaking, “Come to the bonfire in the artillery range after sunset on Friday. Colonel Charles Fabvier will be there to give a speech. Just look for me in the crowd.”

“Colonel Fabvier? The Infantry commander?”

“Well… yes, the Infantry commander. But he’s an intellectual! You should come.”

He turned to leave, but stopped, "I forgot to add, we should do something about your illiteracy."

* * *

“Are you all familiar with the events in Spain, just last year?” Col. Fabvier asked his audience, “The commander of a large army mutinied and forced the King of Spain to accept a liberal constitution.”

In attendance were all manner of military officers, along with ordinary soldiers. Many were friends of Fabvier. Others, his fellow ideologues. All were mesmerised with his words.

“And what have we here in France?” Fabvier asked, “A Bourbon King! A toothless army filled with the sons of the _Ancien Regime_! Our nation today is a stain on the memory of the Revolution! That same Revolution that called all Frenchmen to purge the First Coalition! That same Revolution that saw Napoleon take us to the gates of Moscow!”

He paused to regard the audience, and then spoke in a lower tone, “My dear compatriots, before we leave for the night, I want to tell you all that we can rectify this stain upon our nation, and that we can do it by following the example of the Spaniards. To march on Paris and purge our beautiful capital of the rot that has seeped back into power and bring back the dream of the Republic! It will take a long time. It won’t be easy. And many brave souls will be martyred. But I do expect it to be done.”

Everyone in attendance sang _La Marseilles_ and then returned to their barracks.

* * *

“This!” Gaspard, the team’s firer placed a sabre in Fantine’s hands, “Is your sword. Clean it, learn to use it, whatever. Just don’t expect to actually use it in battle.”

She unsheathed the sword halfway and gave Gaspard a confused look, “Weren’t we supposed to be practicing with these as much as with the cannon?”

“Yeah. But Drouet is lazy blowhard. Don’t ever expect him to do more effort than lifting his finger.”

“But ah!” Fantine gripped the sabre in both hands, “Perhaps I could be a dashing swordsman!”

“You really believe that?”

Fantine nodded ecstatically with a smile.

“Hahahahahahahahaha!” Gaspard erupted in laughter, “Do you- do you really think that?!”

“Of course, I do! Anyone can, right?” Fantine asked, “What's your deal?”

“Hahaha… No, no no no no, look…” Gaspard collected himself, “Look at you. You’re a piece of bone. Let’s be realistic here. You, becoming a master swordsman is impossible!”

Fantine opened her mouth to speak but trailed off upon realising she had nothing to say in response.

“That doesn’t make it impossible.” A calm voice from the armoury door caused both Fantine and Gaspard to turn and face the newcomer.

“Dupin, don’t listen to him,” Guillaume, the loader said, ducking under the door, “I’ve had fifteen duels with Gaspard and won twelve of them. Don’t be discouraged by this fool.”

“Guillaume! You liar! We agreed most of them were ties!” Gaspard retorted.

As the two began arguing, Fantine stood at the side and laughed. Guillaume was right, she should give it a try.

* * *

The weeks began passing like days and months like weeks, and Fantine had all but settled into her new lifestyle. With her daily pay, she was able to cobble together a decent saving for herself. She continued to send money to Monfermeil for Cosette’s lodgings, but with the money left over, she was able to spend it on personal leisure. Mainly for drinks and entertainment, but also to buy paper.

She had begun learning to read and write. Initially, it was only Drouet who tried to teach her, but later, Enrique also lent a hand. Despite the encouragement, she didn’t learn much thanks to Drouet having horrible handwriting and Enrique not being very good writing French. The most progress she made was learning numbers, where Drouet succeeded in teaching Fantine basic maths (his favourite subject). Of course, it is important to recognise that neither men had any experience in teaching anyone basic literacy, so it should be no surprise to anyone that their efforts resulted in… well…

By the end of July, Fantine was proficient enough to recite the Castilian alphabet, and do basic algebra. She still couldn’t read and write, but she could graph the arc a cannonball is shot in.

After giving up on trying to teach Fantine how to write, Enrique settled for teaching her Spanish.

“Learning a new tongue is far more of a qualification for actual work than literacy,” he said, “Literacy is just an expectation, while knowledge of another language tells people that you actually put effort and time to learning something difficult!”

In terms of learning the language, Fantine fared better than her attempts to learn to write. Her progress was slow, but she was well on her way of being able to hold small conversations.

* * *

As the seasons came and went, the camp began to stir with activity. Rumours of a potential war abounded, and later, it was announced in official capacity that the _Armée des Pyrénées_ (Army of the Pyrenees) was on track to invade Spain in the coming year. The suspicions of many were proven correct. The unstable Spanish _Cortes Generales_ (the Spanish Parliament) had taken power away from the crown and provoked the ire of the former coalitionary powers. The task of dealing with Spain was initially taken up by the Tsar of Russia, Aleksandr I, but eventually, France took the mantle of peacekeeper in Spain.

Command of the army was given to the Dauphin’s son, the Duke of Angôuleme, and the invasion was set for April 1823.

The army was never truly loyal to the King. The memories of glory from the days of Napoleon’s Empire still rang in the ears of every soldier. None of the new officers could truly put a proper leash on their troops after their old officers were dismissed. This remained the prevailing issue in the army, until the leadership was reorganised. Now, all the high-ranking officers were Napoleonic veterans, while the lower ranking ones comprised mainly of those loyal to the crown.

While the army had mostly been pacified, some voices, who yearned for a bygone age, began to stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my previous draft, this chapter was only to encompass Fantine's enlistment and then the third chapter would be her adjusting to life in the Artillery. But this whole draft was part of some stupid sidestory which turned into a ripoff of spaghetti westerns, but done without any understanding of what makes those films work so well. Anyway, the result is that these two chapters were patched together in a sloppy way. If you actually read closely, you can tell which parts were unchanged.  
> One last thing I want to note is that I've deliberately de-aged Fantine to be a bit younger here in this story. She is supposed to be in her mid-twenties, but I made her younger because a lot of how I characterise her won't make sense for someone past twenty-five.  
> God I really hope people actually read this story.


	3. A duel - Defeat - Bayonne - The past - Uneasyness - The hostage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised I moved too quickly last chapter and didn't give my hypothetical audience any time to let the characters settle. So I wrote this.  
> One more thing. I noticed that I never address how Fantine is able to blend into the army as a woman. The reason this is, is because I'm just a bad writer, and I don't know how to include it in with my normal writing. You can probably see how I struggle with dialogue and exposition as an example.
> 
> Right, well, whatever. If you read this, try to leave some tips on how I can improve. I want to get better at this.

**July 1822**

“You want to spar with _me_?” Gaspard asked in a surprised voice, obviously taken aback by Fantine’s challenge. She began learning the basics of using a sabre with Guillaume’s help, mainly because of the feeling of insult left by Gaspard’s dismissal of her potential skill. So, when she stared back at him with a determined frown, she tried her damnedest to not be intimidated.

“I never said spar,” She slid off her right glove and dropped it on the ground, “I’m challenging you to a duel.”

Gaspard took a moment to process what she just said.

And then he burst out laughing.

“Oh, come on, what’s so funny?!”

“Haha- oh…” He took a moment to breathe, “You’re not worth my time. A week with a sabre isn’t going to put you on my level.”

“There you go insulting me again! Pick up your sword! If you have any notion of honour, you’d stand and accept my challenge!”

Gaspard spat on the floor, as if calling out her false bravado, “Fine. The mess hall at midnight.”

“Good! I'll be there!” Fantine turned to leave the armoury.

“You forgot this!” Gaspard kicked Fantine’s glove over to her.

“Hmph!” She picked it up and stormed out of the room.

“Ha, what’s this joker thinking? Sense of honour, my arse.”

* * *

“Dupin, why do you think this is a good idea?” Enrique asked, as Fantine sized up her blunted duelling sabre.

“And just let him call me weak? I’m sorry, but I’ve been through too much to let that happen!”

“But did you really need to challenge him to a duel? Why all the theatrics when just a normal spar is all you need?”

“What? Isn’t it just something men do?”

“Pfft…” He tried to stifle his laughter, “What? No, of course not. It’s something pompous noblemen do when their egos get too big for their tiny heads.”

Her head sank. Great… now she looks like a total idiot.

“So… now what?” Fantine asked, clutching her sleeve.

“Hm? Might as well continue with the duel,” Enrique said, as the doors to the mess hall opened, “Speak of the devil.”

Her head shot up to see Gaspard walk towards them. Damn, now’s not the time to wallow in self-pity!

She shot up and faced her opponent, “You came!”

Gaspard scoffed, “I’m ready when you are, pipsqueak. Best of three, wins.” He turned to the dining table to pick up one of the blunted sabres.

Fantine made her way to the opposite end of the makeshift arena from her opponent and held her sabre facing forward, as Guillaume instructed her to.

Gaspard took the same position, but without Fantine's beginner stiffness.

Enrique, acting as the proctor, gave the all clear, “ _Allez!_ ”

Gaspard closed the gap between their blades as quickly has he could, tapping his sabre against hers to test her reaction.

She moved her sword to the right of his and moved in to lunge at his torso.

As she moved her blade forward, a cold touch of steel pressed against her throat.

Gaspard smirked, “I take round one.”

He must’ve known she was going to make a move like that! Damn, the next round will be better.

“ _En Garde!_ ” Enrique called out. Both duellists returned to their positions and took their guard stances.

“ _Allez!_ ”

Gaspard moved forward again. Guess that’s his usual tactic. Maybe pre-empting him would work!

She began moving forward to meet him in the centre of the arena.

Gaspard swung his sword at her shoulder, which she blocked by jerking her sabre to the left. Her opponent let his sword bounce off hers and began switching sides.

She knew what was coming. Fantine closed her eyes and quickly swung her sword to the right, hitting Gaspard’s sword arm.

Huh? Did she just get him?

She opened her eyes to see her opponent holding his hand over where she hit him, “Good one.” He admitted. Now it was her turn to smirk. It’s definitely possible to wipe the smile off this oaf’s face.

Both returned to their former positions and stood at guard.

“ _Allez!_ ”

Fantine began moving to the centre. It worked last time. Why not try it again?

Gaspard rushed towards her and brought his sword down, aiming for her head.

She blocked the attack, but the impact forced her to stagger backwards.

As his blade bounced off hers, he arced it around to land a hit on her thigh.

“Aaaaaah!!!” she let out in pain, dropping to the ground after the force of the blow. She held her leg in her arms in attempt to quell the pain.

“Yeah, looks like I’m done here,” Gaspard said, depositing the blunt sabre on the dining table.

He took one last look at his defeated opponent before leaving the mess hall.

Fantine had sat up on a chair and began staring at the blunt sabre she used.

“Is your leg alright?” Enrique asked, approaching her.

“Tch…” She looked away from her comrade, “I’m fine.”

“I’m sure Guillaume told you already but getting good with a sword takes time and effort.”

“I know! It’s just…”

He waited for her to continue.

“I couldn’t just let him call me weak!”

“Take my advice. Pride won’t get you anywhere.”

“Huh? Why?”

“You lose sense of your limits. You’re obviously not skilled enough to take him on. Take it easy and practice.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Thanks.”

* * *

“Is it true you lost to Gaspard?” Drouet asked.

“Yeah.” Fantine put her pen down.

Having given up trying to teach her how to write, Drouet decided to start with numbers rather than letters. His handwriting itself was an atrocity, so starting with something he was good at was a better option for both student and teacher. Having her memorize all the written numbers was easy enough, only taking half a month’s effort, so they moved on to basic mathematics.

She held out her fingers and began counting silently to herself.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No. Shouldn’t you start teaching me letters?”

“Letters will come later when I teach you algebra.”

“Alge- what?”

“Nothing. Just focus on what you’re doing.”

“I was hoping I’d be able to write my own letters soon.”

“Oh, you visit the scribe, right?”

“Yeah.” She held her pen in her fist and began etching in the solution to her problem.

“Ohhhh? Dupin’s got a sweetheart?” Drouet teased.

She turned and looked at him with a ‘ _I’m going to rip your head off,_ ’ expression on her face, “Daughter.”

“Oh.” He flipped a page in his book. And then he looked back at her, “Huh!?”

“She lives with some caretakers up north. But I’ve got to pay for her lodging.”

“ _You_ of all people have a kid?!”

Fantine sighed and went back to her maths, “Whatever. Drouet, how did you get a job anyway?” She asked, changing the subject.

“I wanted to get away from my parent’s stupid nonsense.” He replied, turning back to his book.

“It can’t be that bad.”

“That’s right. It really isn’t that bad. I just wanted space away from my parents.”

“Wait that’s it? There’s nothing else to your story?”

“Yeah. Turns out being a pampered rich kid means I don’t really have a sob story of my own.”

She said nothing, causing him to shoot her a glance. And then he saw it.

“Didn’t I tell you not to hold your pen like that?”

“Sorry.”

“Hold it between your thumb and your index finger.”

She did so, “There, is that better?”

“Yes. That’s how it’s _supposed_ to be done.”

* * *

“You’re getting pretty good at this, Dupin!” Jacques said with a grin. Fantine got off her horse and climbed over to his side of the fence.

“Thanks, Jacques. You made learning this a lot easier than it should have been.” She said with a smile. It felt good to be recognised sometimes. She enjoyed talking to Jacques. He was approachable to talk to whenever, and he was also easy to get a rise out of.

“Y’know, I thought you’d feel all down because of that match you lost, but you seem OK to me.”

Oh great. Is there anyone who hasn’t heard of her embarrassment yet?

“Not this again…”

“Aw come on, you know I’m not trying to tease you or anything.”

“Don’t want to hear it.” She frowned.

“Alright fine then. You wanna talk about something else?”

Fantine nodded, “Tell me about something embarrassing and we’re even.”

“Well… something embarrassing… what to tell you…” Jacques crossed his arms and stared at the sky.

“Oh, I know!” He began, “When I was ten, my sister gave me a silver coin for my birthday. I think it was worth forty sous, but just having money made me feel important. I used to keep that thing with me everywhere. Then, one day, I flipped the coin near some old weirdo, who stepped on it when it fell. He never gave it back, so I went to my sister and cried about it for the next few weeks.”

“Oh, come on, I was expecting something funnier.”

“But you haven’t told me anything yet.”

“My match with Gaspard was enough embarrassment for an entire lifetime. You’re the one who needs to tell more.”

He pouted, “Fine. People used to call me ‘ _Petit Gervais_ ’ back then too.”

“Little Gervais? Pfft-” It was Fantine’s turn to laugh

“Shut up! They only called me that because nephew is older than me!”

She began laughing even harder.

“Fine! Laugh all you want!” Jacques harrumphed and turned away from her.

“Yes, but where do you get _Gervais_ from _Jacques_?”

“Last name. It’s my last name.”

“That made my day. Thanks, _Petit Gervais_.” She said while stifling her laughter.

“Yeah, well I hope Gaspard trounces you again.”

“Is your nephew really older than you?”

“Only by a few months. Plus, we don’t even know if he’s alive anyways.”

“Huh, what? Really? What happened?”

“He went to Marseilles to get a job as a mariner, and then we never heard of him again.”

“Oh… I’m sorry for laughing, Jacques.” She said, now feeling bad for having laughed at him.

“I don’t really care. He was a bastard anyways. My sister’s the one who should get the condolences. She was going to live off his income when he left, and when he disappeared, we had nothing.”

“No parents?”

“Nu-uh.”

“So, you’re here to send money back to your sister? I thought you enlisted because of some family tradition.”

He chuckled, “Nah. I just say that to strangers. I know you well enough now, so I can tell you.”

“Did getting your coin stolen mess with your head that much?”

“Hey man, you can never be sure of anyone. Best to always be careful!” He said as if it were some mantra, “And yes. That crazy old man did teach me that lesson!”

“So, ten years to learn about not trusting strangers. Maybe I should teach you how to put your boots on next.” Fantine began laughing again.

“Argh, cut it out already!”

* * *

“What’s your name?” The postman asked.

“Ulysse Dupin.” Fantine replied. It was early in the morning, and this was one of Fantine’s weekly routines. Walking to town and checking with the post office for any mail addressed to her. Usually, there would be one day in the week where she wasn’t called up for drills, which she used for these tasks. Checking her mail. Getting letters transcribed. Sending those letters. Browsing through the town market. Getting drunk off her disposable income.

“Nothing for you today. Sorry.” The man said, returning from the backroom.

“Alright. I’ll be back later with a letter.” She said, turning to leave.

The postman nodded and she left the building. Bayonne wasn’t like Montreuil at all. The climate was warmer. The streets were tighter. The weather was less cloudy. Even the cathedral looked different. Well, not entirely, _but this one had a monastery_.

And one other thing. Bayonne’s streets were _crowded_. Not like Paris, of course. But in comparison to her previous home, the streets were noticeably tighter. There was way more commerce as well. Shops were on every street. There were _two_ general stores, for Christ’s sake! No doubt this is the benefit of having a port and being the biggest town right outside the Spanish border. All the commerce coming through really put the town on the map. Even if it paled in comparison to the giant city to the north, Bordeaux.

Fantine walked over towards the quay and leaned against a lamppost to get lost in staring over at the Bay of Biscay. She was worried for a long time about her eyesight thanks to those days in Montreuil, but thankfully, she could still see fine even if she were still slightly near-sighted.

She took her shako off her head and ran her fingers through her hair. It had been growing since she cut it back in Montreuil, and seeing it get longer had pleased her greatly. She even bought a new comb and began admiring her hair in private with a shard of a broken mirror she picked up one day. It was Jacques of all people who told her, “Your hair looks kinda girly.”

He probably just meant it as a joke. But part of that statement scared the living daylights out of her. What if someone finds her out? Damn… maybe she really should just cut her hair.

She turned her head to look at the street behind her. There _was_ a barber’s shop nearby. Might as well pay it a visit after buying her cough medicine.

She saw a man to her right, wearing the same uniform as her. Another Horse-Artilleryman?

No, wait a minute, that was Enrique! Holding a letter in his hand. He looked furious, so it was probably best not to bother him. But Fantine continued to watch him anyway. He tossed the letter into the sea and then disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Guillaume’s blunted sword landed gently on Fantine’s shoulder. She opened her eyes after not feeling any pain, “What? How?!” Her words bounced off the walls of the empty mess hall.

“You left yourself open, so I pushed my advantage.” Guillaime answered calmly.

“Maybe I’m not good at this…”

“No, you’ve gotten a lot better since you sparred with Gaspard. Don’t feel down.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t _feel_ like I’m getting better.”

“That’s because you’re just not winning yet.”

“Hey, how did you get so good? I really want to know.”

“It’s probably best to not ask me. My story isn’t that helpful.”

“I still want to hear it.” Fantine pouted.

Guillaume sighed, “Fine. I grew up poor in Paris and never had a family. Had to make some money, so I did dirty work for gangs and rich people.”

“You were a hitman?!”

“That’s right. I killed people. Anyone if I was paid enough. And it got me through most of my life until I was thrown in prison for associating with a Bonapartist.”

He _killed_ people?! She looked at him with a shocked expression. And here he is teaching her his skills, even carefully landing hits to not hurt her too hard.

No no no. There’s no reason for her to act this way. She was a murderer as well.

“You look shocked.”

“O-oh, do I?”

“Don’t worry. You should be. People who aren’t surprised by that are usually messed up in the head.”

Well… that’s a relief. She’s not messed up in the head then. Wait, why was she worried about this?!

“G-go on then.”

“Being in prison was the biggest failure of my life. I sat and let my life wallow away. I didn’t even know how long I was in there when I left. It was Drouet’s father who bailed me out of prison. I saved his life once from some thugs, and I guess he remembered me for that.”

“ _What_?! Drouet’s _father_ was the one who bailed you out!?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Well… yes! It is!”

“Hahaha, well, I worked as an actual guard for him until a few years back, when our Drouet ran away from home to go join the army. So here I am.”

“I never would have known.”

“To get back to your original question: Don’t just repeat what works. If you want to get better, you have to experiment. That’s how I got to where I am with a sword, and it’s where you can get if you refuse to double down on what works and try new things every once in a while. That’s how you survive in real duels.”

“So, I just try something new every few times?”

“That’s right.”

Now that she thought of it, the entire reason she’s here is because of experimenting, isn’t she? No doubt she would’ve gotten caught if she lingered around Étaples or Montreuil any longer than she did. Enlisting took her all the way down here. No way the law would even find her, especially after such a quick escape.

Wait… Guillaume has some experience with these things… maybe she could tell him about some of her problems…

“Hey, Guillaume, can I tell you something?”

“Sure, I’m all ears.”

“Just promise me you won’t tell anyone!”

He nodded.

Fantine looked around the room before speaking, “I’ve wanted to get this off my shoulders for a while now… but, the reason I enlisted is because I… I killed someone.”

Guillaume tilted his head, but otherwise, his expression was unchanged, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She nodded, “I-it happened while I was going to sell a vase with a friend… a person I used to work with found me and started insulting me. It sounds childish, I know. I could take all their insults, but then they started insulting my daughter, and… I…” Her hands were clenched, “I wasn’t even thinking when it happened… back then, I was just so angry with everything that I just…”

Guillaume placed a hand on her shoulder, “It’s in the past. Don’t think so deeply on it. You did a horrible thing. But you don’t need to live as a product of that crime,” He retracted his hand and crossed his arms before continuing, “In my experience, redemption comes from doing a good deed. You can do something horrible to someone, but they will eventually move on with their lives. But if you offer help to someone in dire need of it, they will remember you in a good light for the rest of their lives.”

* * *

Part of the daily life as soldier was performing drills every day until doing their job became ingrained into muscle memory. This is especially true for the artillery. Under Napoleon, the artillery was the king of the battlefield, and every artilleryman felt exalted. But now, Napoleon was gone. The King was back. And the army was neutered. The artillery, while still of prime importance, was no where near the status it reached under Bonaparte.

But the artilleryman continued to drill. Each set of drills included reloading, target practice, and speed. Normally, getting a unit of artillery battle ready required at least a year of training to be considered proficient enough. Drouet’s team was already fit for battle, until Fantine arrived. They had expected to wait another year for Fantine to catch up, but no one quite expected her to perform so well so quickly.

“Rammer!” Drouet looked over his book, “Wait, you’re done already?” He blinked.

Fantine raised her ram rod in the air, “That’s right!”

Drouet put his book down and approached Old Marie, “Wow, that was pretty quick, I didn’t think you’d get this good until after a year.”

“That’s called devotion, Drouet,” Enrique said, “Not that you’d know what that’s like, unless it’s some political nonsense.”

“It’s devotion then?” Drouet asked, “Hey, Dupin, you could probably be an officer someday if you keep this up.”

Be an officer? Her?

Haha, no way. Having to deal with leading a bunch of people is not the job for her. Her nerves would get the better of her first day on the job.

“I don’t think leading people is the job for me,” Fantine shook her head, “I just want to make some money and retire soon.”

“Well, if it were up to me, I’d have you take my place, but – “

“Can you just aim already?” Gaspard asked, obviously getting annoying waiting for his turn.

Drouet groaned and knelt at Old Marie’s breech, “Turn to the left a bit and you’re free to fire.”

He stood, “Alright Enrique, you’re free to Prime.”

As Drouet went back to his book, Enrique readied the charge and Gaspard picked up the linstock.

“Fire!”

Old Marie exploded into action, covering the air in smoke, and sending its contents flying.

As the smoke cleared, Drouet stepped forward and stared at their target with his opera glasses.

“Well, good job lads, we hit it!”

* * *

Fantine closed the room’s window after a dash of cold air blew in. Summer was over, and the days were only going to get colder. Best to not pre-empt her consumption. She had already suppressed her condition with medicine and rest, but the knowledge that it could re-appear made her anxious, and weary of anything that could make her sick.

“Why’d you close it? That wind felt nice.” Drouet said, putting down his newspaper.

“I’m just trying to not get sick again.” Fantine replied, as she sat back down at her desk, and picked up her pen.

She was in Drouet’s room. Unlike the ordinary soldiers, the noblemen/officers like Drouet lived away from their men. His room wasn’t the epitome of opulence, but it was in a nice part of town, facing the sea. The walls were painted white, with gilded adornments and miscellaneous paintings were placed around the room.

She wasn’t sure how much anything in here cost, but she knew the rent was probably sky high.

Whatever. She turned away from the window and went back to her maths.

“Hey, Drouet, what does the paper say?” She said out of curiosity, and partly out of boredom.

“Nothing good,” He replied curtly, “One of Bonaparte’s old ministers just got assassinated right here in Bayonne.”

Huh. She heard stories in the pub and at the market of people being killed for political reasons, but never about one right here in Bayonne.

“Why’s that?”

“People down here hate Bonaparte. Him and his officials getting kicked out of power let them vent their frustrations out on them.”

“Oh. Sounds terrible.”

“No, there’s worse news.”

“Like what?”

“There might be a war soon.”

She put her pen down, “What, are you serious!?” A sense of dread flared in her chest.

“There’s been rumours going around that France might invade Spain.”

“ _Nom de Dieu_ …” she sunk her head onto the desk, “I thought the wars were over!”

“Well, it’s just a rumour, but it’s from someone close to the Prime Minister. So, it’s troubling news nevertheless.”

And here she thought she’d have a semblance of a comfortable existence without risking her head as her job required. _Sacrebleu_! Why is she such an idiot!? Now she may just be too dead to send money to Monfermeil!

Drouet looked over his shoulder at Fantine’s sulking at the desk, “Dupin, if you’re worried about getting killed, don’t. We’re artillery. We don’t get killed. We get captured.”

“Is that supposed to be any better?”

“Well, you won’t be dead.”

She stood up, “I need to go get a letter written. Sorry, Drouet.”

“Wait, but you’re not-” Drouet was cut off by the door being shut.

He walked over to the desk and checked the page, “He finished already? Maybe I should start teaching him algebra now…”

* * *

“We’re going to invade Spain?” Enrique asked, startled.

Fantine nodded, “That’s what Drouet said!”

She had run into Enrique by total chance at the post office. The two made conversation as they walked back to their barracks.

He collected himself before responding, “Did he tell you why?”

“No. He only said it was a rumour from someone close to the Prime Minister.”

“The Prime Minister? Then, the only reason I can think is that they want to put King Fernando back in power.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, just think about it. Spain’s been controlled by the _Cortes Generales_ , our parliament, for about three years now. You think the royalists that are all in power now want to tolerate this?”

“The news spooked me pretty badly when Drouet first told me. Guess I’m an idiot for thinking I can join an army and not expect to get thrown in a battlefield.”

“No. Doesn’t make you an idiot. Just makes you hopelessly naive.”

She sunk her head, “Why am I like this?”

“So, who was that letter for?” Enrique asked, changing the subject.

“Cosette’s caretakers… I just wanted to let them know I might end up getting killed in action.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“She should be 7 soon.”

“Mine is the same age,” Enrique smiled, “You should write a letter addressed specifically to her, rather than her caretakers. If she can read by now.”

That- that’s actually a really good idea! Why not? She’s putting her life on the line here, might as well send her some nice words as a little gift. Ah, why not buy her something nice? Like that one time with the dress!

Her arm instinctively reached to the back of her neck, until she realised that she recently got it cut.

“Hey, Enrique, what was your letter about?”

“Huh? Oh…” He took a moment to stare at the cobbled streets as they walked, “Maybe I should tell you. My daughter, Costanza, is a political hostage.”

“ _What_?!”

“The reason I’m in France is because my family worked with the French when Napoleon invaded, and because of that we had a lot of money. Back then, there were groups called _Juntas_ that were organised to fight against the French. One of them attacked my home town while I was away and took over our home. I was worried about Costanza, but my father dragged me over here. And now here I am. Saving up to pay her ransom.”

“But that war is over, why do they still have her!?”

“Because they’re bandits now. That’s why. People like that always end up turning to crime when they’re no longer needed. It’s just…” Enrique trailed off and stopped talking.

“Maybe now you have the chance to take her back,” Fantine said, thinking aloud.

“If we’re going to Spain? Maybe.” Enrique gave a light smile.


	4. Victory - An Oath - The Letter - The Opera Glasses - La Rioja - The Corporal - Mobilisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My main focus during the writing of this chapter was adjusting Fantine's character. Looking back on the past three chapters, she was definitely out of character multiple times, so I went back to read the first few parts of the book to study her character a bit. And MAN is there a lot of nuance to her in the book. I'll come back to this in the postscript.  
> My other goal was trying to get the scenes to flow into one another. I'll get the hang of it soon!

**Late March 1823**

It was 4 A.M. and the reveille (wake-up call) hadn’t been sounded yet, but the mess hall reverbed with the sound of clashing steel.

It had been a year of learning the ropes and getting better, but Fantine finally returned to challenge Gaspard again. And so, here they were. In the middle of a makeshift arena in the mess hall with Guillaume as their proctor.

The loud _clanging_ of the clashing swords stopped abruptly, as Fantine’s sabre landed square on Gaspard’s neck. His eyebrows shot up momentarily, then fell into a focused frown, “Lucky devil.”

“Dupin wins the first round!” Guillaume called, “ _En garde_!” Both duellists returned to their positions.

Fantine knew Gaspard was going to attempt to overpower her like in her previous duel with him months ago. She looked over at Guillaume and remembered what he said. _Experimentality!_ If she does something unexpected, the match was in her hands!

She returned her gaze onto her opponent.

“ _Allez_!”

Gaspard stood still for her to make the first move.

That’s strange… maybe she should bait him in…

Fantine tapped her sabre against his, as if to probe his reaction. He copied her motion. Using this as a distraction, Fantine swung her sword at him, which he blocked. Gaspard counterattacked with a similar attack, which was also blocked by his opponent.

The exchange of blows and deflections went on for five seconds, and then suddenly stopped as both duellists stepped back to read the other.

Gaspard raised his sabre high above his head.

‘ _There it is!_ ’ Fantine thought. This was her moment to strike! She just needed to do something he didn’t expect!

Her opponent made his way forward and began to bring down his sword for his heavy attack.

Fantine began to step to the right and tilted her sword upon blocking Gaspard’s attack to let his momentum carry him downwards. And with that, she brought her sabre down and struck her rival’s back.

Wait… that was it?

Did she just win?!

Gaspard’s expression was one of utter confoundment, “Wha- that didn’t just…”

She turned to look at Guillaume with an expression of disbelief. Guillaume smiled and clapped his hands in applause.

She felt a well of pride burst inside her, forming the biggest, dumbest smile she had in a very long time.

* * *

“Hey, everyone!” Fantine called while running up the hill on which she and her crewmates conducted their drills, “You won’t believe what I…” She trailed off when she got closer to the camp.

Normally, when she joined up with her team after morning assembly, none of her crewmates would be doing much of anything. Drouet’s face would be covered with a book. Gaspard would be yelling. Guillaume would be entertaining Gaspard’s theatrics. Jacques would be laughing at them, and Enrique would often be watching silently. Old Marie would already be set up, and on the fields to the east, their targets would be ready.

Today was different. Drouet stood at the centre of a half-circle formed by the others, who were seated on the ground. Everyone more or less looked serious. Even Gaspard – who she trounced earlier – looked to be deeply in thought. There was no cannon, and the field was empty.

Drouet looked over at Fantine as she approached, “Dupin! Sit down. I want you to listen as well.”

She complied and sat down next to Enrique. It wasn’t easy to get her attention, but now that it was all but confirmed that a war was coming, whatever he had to say was probably of utmost importance.

“Alright everyone. I believe I’ve made it exceedingly clear to all of you where my political sympathies lie. So, I will read you all a letter by Colonel Fabvier, who asked me to read this out to you,” Drouet fished out a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket and began reading it aloud:

“My fellow Citizens. I am sure that news of the government’s unjust decision to impose war upon our southern neighbour has reached you all by now. I want to reaffirm to all of you, that I am a committed defender of the ideals of the Revolution, and just so doing, I oppose with all my might this dastardly attempt by the _ancien r_ _égime_ to stamp down on the rights of man in Spain and force despotism on a nation that had rejected it. You may ask yourselves, who are the ones responsible for this? Look no further than our esteemed former Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mathieu de Montmorency and the current Minister, the Viscount of Chateaubriand, both enemies of the Revolution themselves. My friends, we are all soldiers. Our duty is to France. Not to the King. His personal project of obstructing liberty from a nation that fought so hard for it, by using what once was _Napoleon’s_ Army should be an insult to all who may be listening.”

Drouet flipped to the other side of the page and continued reading, “You may ask yourselves: _What is there to be done about this?_ I implore you to ask no more. Each and every single one of you knows the event that immortalised Bonaparte’s legacy. When this very same King ordered this very same army to arrest the man, he stood in front of their bayonets and turned the entire army into his own again. We will do the very same. The date for the invasion has been set to the sixth of April. On that day, we will stand before their bayonets at the Bidasoa River, and we will remind them of who they are. I have no doubt in my mind that we will succeed, for once we reach Paris, and the Republic is restored, each of you will be content in your knowledge that you did your part to save the nation. Signed, Colonel Fabvier.”

The contents of the letter took a moment to register in the minds of the cannoneers. ‘ _Standing in front of bayonets? Who in their right mind would do that?_ ’ Fantine wondered.

“Since that’s out of the way, let’s get down to business,” Drouet said, folding the letter and placing it back in his pocket, “I intend to join the Colonel’s movement. But I won’t force any of you to come along against your will. If you are willing to come with me on our march to Paris, then stand. I have nothing against those who remain seated, however.”

Only a second after he was done speaking, Gaspard shot up, “I was in Napoleon’s Army. If I’m given the chance to avenge his defeat at Waterloo, then I’ll take it without thinking!”

The next one to stand up was Guillaume, “I’m only in this to watch your back, Drouet.”

Jacques stood up next, “Um… if I’ll be able to go to Paris and find a job, then I’ll go.”

Then Enrique, “I’ll come along, but this is only a means to an end.”

And all that remained was Fantine. All eyes were upon whether she would stand or not.

If she joins their mutiny and they march on Paris, they wouldn’t have to fight in a war anymore, right? The thought of conflict being averted soothed her. She didn’t like violence, and even seeing an animal in pain made her very uneasy. Just like when she…

The thought of Victurnien’s corpse caused Fantine to stand up abruptly.

If she could somehow make up for what she did by saving the lives of countless others… she’d take it. She looked over at Guillaume. This is what he meant, right? To do a good thing?

Fantine looked at Drouet, “If we’re stopping this war… then I’ll go.”

“Then it’s settled,” Drouet said as he turned to leave, “You’re free to do as you please for the next few days, because we begin marching to the border next week.”

Once he left, the others drifted off as well. Gaspard and Guillaume left for the mess hall. Jacques left to go window shopping in the city.

Fantine needed to go pick up her medicine from the pharmacy so she also began leaving.

Until a hand on her shoulder stopped her, “Wait, Dupin!” Enrique called.

“Huh?” Fantine turned to face her comrade.

He withdrew his hand, “I need to talk to you.”

“…Alright, I’m listening.”

He remained silent for a moment before speaking, “I don’t plan on tagging along with Drouet and the others. I’m going to take Old Marie and run to Spain.”

_What?_ He’s just going to betray them all? What could possibly be more important to him than stopping a _war_?

Ah… of course… “It’s to save Costanza, right?” Fantine asked, suddenly feeling remorseful for accusing her friend of betrayal, even if it was only a thought.

He nodded, “I wanted to ask if you could come along with me. The men who have Costanza are an entire group of bandits. Alone, I can’t hope to save her. But two men and a cannon make the odds far more even.”

Fantine found herself at a mental impasse:

If she declined, she’d be safely on the road to Paris, and to Cosette. But that would also mean Enrique probably wouldn’t ever see his daughter again.

If she accepted, she’d be risking her life for the sake of a friend and his child. But that would mean she might never see Cosette again.

Fantine rubbed her temples. She had no answer. Neither outcome was favourable.

“Hey, are you alright?” Enrique asked out of concern.

What would Marguerite say at a time like this?

“ _Before me sits a girl struggling to provide for her daughter, and on the verge of selling her teeth to buy medicine. It should only be appropriate for me to part with this vase so as to prevent someone from falling into the same fate as my brother._ ”

Marguerite helped her because she was in the same situation as her brother. She even freed her from that hell she was in during her days in Montreuil.

Enrique was in a predicament very similar to the one she was in. But…

“If the situation were reversed, you help me, right?” Fantine asked.

“Well, you’re my friend. Of course, I would.” He answered.

Then, in that case… it would only be right to lend him a hand. Even if she wasn’t taking part in stopping the war, she’d be helping a friend with something important to him. Marguerite did the same for her. It’s time to pass that goodwill onto someone else.

“Alright. I’ll go. And yes, I’m quite alright. I just… didn’t know what to say.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you declined. I understand you have other things to worry about.”

Fantine shook her head and smiled, “No, no, that would be bad of me! I know we’re both in the same sort of situation, that’s why you asked me to come rather than the others, right?”

Enrique smiled back, “That’s right. Let’s try not to die out there.”

* * *

After Fantine purchased her medicine, she had the public scribe pen two letters. One addressed to the Thénardier’s, thanking them for looking after Cosette for so long and informing them of the war. The other was for Cosette herself.

“My dear Cosette… no,” Fantine cut herself off, “My darling Cosette, I hope that someday you can grow to forgive your…” She stopped to consider her words. She can’t just say the word ‘mother’ in front of the scribe, so…

“I’m waiting,” The moustachioed old man who transcribed Fantine’s words said, as he tapped his feet on the stone floor. She huffed at his impatience. The scribe in Montreuil was actually a fairly likeable person, but this man was a pain to deal with whenever she needed a letter transcribed. That, and he charged per page rather than a single payment.

“…Your terribly foolish parent.” Fantine said, completing her thought.

“And what a fool you are.” The man grumbled and got to work, writing down everything she spoke.

“Um, can I get a postscript written?”

“Five more sous.”

She sighed, handed him a five sous coin and began speaking, “If at ever you feel you are alone in the world, find a person around you and do them a good deed. If you do something good for someone, they will remember your kindness for as long as you know them.”

The scribe began writing, “I know you didn’t come up with that yourself, kid.”

She decided not to give him an answer.

“Done. Anything else?”

“No. Thank you, sir.”

After sending the letters and most of her savings, she spent the rest of her day alone in the corner of a pub, dreaming. First of her daughter. Then of the murder she committed. She hardly slept that night.

* * *

“Drouet, there’s something I need to tell you.” Fantine said, after knocking on his door. It was eight in the morning, no doubt he’d be awake by now, seeing as how most of the soldiers were expected to wake at five. Though, she woke up way later than then herself.

Something had been eating at Fantine since agreeing to help Enrique. By leaving with him to enter Spain, wouldn’t they be betraying their comrades? Keeping this a secret from Drouet wasn’t going to help them. And besides, getting mad about such things isn’t something he would do.

“Come in!” Drouet called from inside the room.

She opened the door and took a step inside. Drouet was seated at his couch with a book in his hand. He wasn’t wearing his uniform yet. Instead, he wore a black jacket with a yellow waistcoat and a simple pair of white trousers.

“Um. I don’t know how to say this but…” Fantine began.

Drouet closed his book and looked up at his guest.

“I… I can’t come along with you all,” She admitted, “I’m sorry.”

He sighed, “I’m fine with it, but what brought this on?”

“Enrique’s daughter is being held captive in Spain. I want to help him rescue her.”

Drouet blinked, “Enrique’s not going either?”

Fantine shook her head.

“Well, I’m glad you told me this early. So, who do you plan on rescuing his daughter from?”

“There’s a group of criminals who took her hostage when he fled the country, and they still have her. We’re going to take Old Marie. Enrique said having a cannon would help our odds.”

Drouet did a double-take, “You want to take our _cannon_? You’d be a two-man cannon crew! That’s ludicrous!”

“Yes, but we’ll-” She stopped when Drouet began speaking.

“Wait a minute, you’re the rammer and he’s the ventsman…” His expression changed from one of confoundment to one where he looked like he was seriously considering their chances, “It could actually work. Both of you have the most important jobs in cannon operation. If it’s just you two, then maybe you can do it. How big is this group of criminals you’re going up against?”

Hm… Enrique never told her how much men they’re going up against. But…

“It’s just a group of bandits, they can’t be _that_ many men to deal with.”

“Ah, that’s right! That, and any group of bandits would probably run for their lives on hearing a cannon go off,” He grinned, “I’ve got my faith in you, just as I’ve got faith in our movement!”

Fantine smiled as well. Yeah, maybe things will be alright. They weren’t going to die, and neither was she.

Drouet stood up and walked up to his desk, “I want to give you something, since you’re going to be doing all the aiming it seems.”

“I’m going to be the aimer?”

He pulled open one of the drawers, “Well, yes. I taught you all that maths for a reason.”

“I know, but I don’t know if I’m good enough to-”

“How do you calculate velocity?” Drouet asked, cutting off her train of thought.

“The difference between position divided by the difference in time.” She answered on reflex.

“You’ll be fine!” He pulled his opera glasses out of the drawer and walked over to her near the door, “I want you to have these.”

If she was drinking something at that moment, she would probably have spit it out after seeing what he was offering her. In Drouet’s hands was an extremely expensive looking pair of binoculars. The frame was made of ivory and the lens grip was made of pearl gilded with gold leaves arranged in various geometric patterns.

“Oh, come on, just take it. You’re going to need it.”

She reluctantly took it from his hands, “H-how much did this cost?”

Drouet shrugged as he walked back to his sofa, “I don’t know. It was a gift from someone I don’t want to remember.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

“Drouet said he’s fine with us leaving them.” Fantine said to Enrique as they filled Old Marie’s cart with supplies and weapons they smuggled from the armoury.

“Wait, what?! You told him!?” Enrique asked, almost dropping the muskets he was carrying.

“He said he wouldn’t hold anything against us when we all stood up and volunteered, didn’t he?” She said before picking up a 6 lbs cannonball with both hands.

“Oh, well, at least _try_ to be cautious.”

She dropped the cannonball onto the cart, “Where are we going anyways?”

“ _La Rioja_. It’s a small province south of Basque Country with a lot of forested mountains. Great place for a gang of bandits to set camp.”

Everywhere she lived was flat. _Pas de Calais_ , _Île de France_ , both were all situated on flatland. _Basses-Pyrénées_ , the department she was currently in was quite hilly, but not terribly so. The thought of seeing mountains intrigued her, but she couldn’t help but to wonder, “Where are you going to go after all this?”

“Cadiz. It’s all the way in the southwest. My sister lives there with her husband, so I’ll move in with them.”

“Oh. I guess I’ll just head back to France once this is all over.” Fantine said. She wasn’t a stranger to losing such close friends, but the thought still saddened her greatly.

“Those bandits should be sitting on some gold. You can have most of it if you need money to get your daughter.”

“How do you know that?”

“About your daughter? You told me.”

“No, sorry, I mean the gold.”

“They’ve got almost a decade’s worth of ransom payments from me. No doubt they’re loaded.”

Fantine pulled a bayonet-less musket from a crate, “What’s with this one?”

“That’s a rifle. You didn’t know?”

“No. What’s so special about this?”

Enrique scoffed, “Oh come on. You’ve been with us for a year now, you don’t know what a rifle is?”

“Um…” She found herself reliving the moments when her ‘friend’ Favourite would make fun of her for not knowing basic things about Paris.

“It’s just a musket but inside the barrel, the ball is spun when the powder goes off. It makes it more accurate.”

Fantine sighed internally. She wasn’t ready to go through that mockery she suffered in Paris again. “Oh. I never bothered learning how to use guns because I was already learning how to use my sabre.”

Enrique stocked their last piece of cargo – a small crate full of lead balls – and then sat on the ground, “I’m not an expert, but I can show you what I know later.”

* * *

Having an entire week off when one usually has an extremely rigid schedule can be a liberating experience, but once the boredom hits, the feeling of freedom wears off. Our heroine stood on the balcony of her barrack and stared over at the city in the distance.

The pearl coating on Drouet’s opera glasses glowed in the afternoon sun. Fantine felt weird holding it. On one hand, it made her very happy to own something so expensive again. And on the other, she couldn’t help but remember Marguerite’s vase. Her friend gave it to her so selflessly, and she defiled it in such a horrendous way.

No, no, no! She needed to stop thinking like that! Drouet gave it to her out of necessity for her job!

The door behind her opened so she lowered the opera glasses and looked over her shoulder.

It was Guillaume, who then greeted her, “Nothing much going on, is there, Dupin?”

“No, there isn’t.” She responded.

“Am I right to assume Drouet let you have those?”

She looked at the opera glasses in her hands and looked back at him, “That’s right. I’m not going to be joining you all in your movement, so he let me have them.”

“That’s definitely something he would do. Did he tell you the story?”

This caught her attention, “Story? About what?”

“The story behind those lenses.”

“It was a gift, right? He didn’t say who gave it though.”

“He comes from a family of landowners in Lyon. I’m not sure how long ago it was, but his father got him engaged to a girl from another big landowning family. I think our Drouet really loved that girl. That’s when he bought her that pair of lenses,” Guillaume put a hand on the railing, “His father had a falling out with the girl’s father and called off the engagement. She gave the lenses back to him, and then he ran away to join the army instead.”

Fantine looked down at the binoculars in her hands, “So, these probably just reminded him of all that, huh? That must’ve been painful for him.”

“His father is still worried about him, so that’s why I’m here.”

“I don’t know if I can help him, but… I can say without a shred of doubt that I understand how he would feel after something like that.”

* * *

By the first of April, the command to begin marching to the border was issued to our protagonist’s unit. In just a single day, the entire army stationed at Bayonne hummed to life. The army’s commander was Louis Antoine de France, the Duke of Angoulême and the _dauphin_ ’s son. The army was waiting for his arrival before fully mustering at the border, but now that he had arrived, the officers wasted no time in getting their men to work. In less than a day, most of the army’s regiments had begun to leave for the border.

Fantine was seated atop her horse, riding at a canter alongside Old Marie’s cart, which was being driven by Jacques. Around them were the rolling hills and farmland of Basque Country.

They’d been riding since the morning and had long since left Bayonne. Watching the scenery had long lost its novelty, and Fantine’s mind began to wander to other things. Back in Paris, when she was still involved with Felix Tholomyès, she would often fantasise about spending her life with him and Cosette. Looking back, it seemed pathetically saccharine by the way Tholomyès ended their relationship. Now days, if she let her mind wander too much, it would inevitably fall on the subject of broken glass.

She wasn’t willing to return to her old habit of mental self-flagellation, so, she turned to Jacques, “Hey, Jacques. Why’d you decide to go along with Colonel Fabvier’s movement?”

The younger boy looked up at her, “I don’t know. It was a spur of the moment thing. I saw both Gaspard and Guillaume stand up, so I thought I might as well go as well.”

“What? Really? Didn’t you say you just wanted to get a job in Paris?”

“You know how I am, Dupin. I never mean anything I say at times like that.”

“What would your sister say?”

“About what? Getting the whole army to march up to Paris? I don’t think she’d mind if we’re doing something good.”

“No, I mean… doing a dangerous job like this.”

“Well, she’d probably just hit me and then blame me for worrying her.”

They talked as such for an hour, until they finally reached the port town of Hendaye, which rested on the Franco-Spanish border.

It was the fourth of April. There was only one day left until the command to cross the border was given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy with the way this chapter turned out at all, and it's probably evident from reading this that there's a lot wrong here. In short, this is probably because I've mentally switched gears into the main plot, but I'm stuck in that boring area where I've only got one more chapter 'til the story actually starts, but still have some setup left to do. Oh well. Just one more chapter of this stuff, and it'll be short (probably just 3 scenes).
> 
> A little bit on Fantine's character:  
> During Book 3 (the one where fantine is still in Paris), we get to see what she's like normally: A shy doofus who's got her head in the clouds 24/7. Favourite often makes remarks about her (she's the most talkative person in the group).  
> The person to give the most succinct description of fantine's personality/character is tholomyes. In Book 3 Chapter 7 he goes on a big drunken rant and talks about the three girls in their group, including Fantine, and summarises her character rather neatly.  
> Anyways, this is pre-Montreuil, and her character goes through some important changes (losing her dignity and her mind being beholden to dark thoughts) which I tried to emulate in Chapter 1 of this story. Much of her characterisation in that chapter was based off me re-reading Book 5. Hugo included this, "Dark thoughts held possession of Fantine’s heart." I interpreted this to mean depression and self hate, which is why I wrote her calling herself an idiot all the time in the earlier chapters. I toned a lot of that down here though and brought back some attributes of her character in Paris. So the interpretation of Fantine that I'll be using in this story is a mix of how she was in Montreuil and Paris.  
> But whatever. I probably looked way too far into this, and the quality of the writing probably suffered.
> 
> Leave tips if you can/want to. And can you let me know what your impressions of the supporting cast of OC's are? Asking because the next chapter will be the one that kickstarts the actual story, and they're going to play an important part. I hope they're not all floating heads :DDDDDDDDDDD


	5. Comrades - Crossing the Border - The Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rushed the hell out of this chapter. The first two parts were written within a day, but I had some trouble with the last part. I don't want to spend too long on it, so I'm just going to post this.

**Franco-Spanish Border Region – 5 April 1823**

“I never thought it would come to this, but here we are. On the cusp of treason,” Guillaume said, “Oh well. Not like I haven’t been an enemy of the state before.”

He, Gaspard, Jacques, and Fantine sat around a single campfire among the veritable metropolis of tents and pavilions set up by the army at the banks of the Bidasoa river, blotting the stars out of the sky with the sheer number of campfires. Tomorrow was the big day. They’d make a stand, convince the rest of the soldiers to defect, and then continue to Paris.

“Everyone who ain’t on board with those royalist lapdogs is a traitor in their eyes.” Gaspard said.

“So, wait. You’re saying we’re going to be traitors after this?” Jacques asked, wringing his hands.

“You’d be a traitor to the revolution by keeping quiet and doing nothing!” Gaspard almost shouted.

“Gaspard, shut up,” Guillaume frowned, “We all have our reasons for coming along, and if Jacques feels uneasy, you shouldn’t be yelling at him.”

“Guys…” Jacques muttered, falling on deaf ears.

“Guillaume, you’re only in this for Drouet!” Gaspard continued.

“So what? I’ve also been thrown in prison by royalists. Stop your conspiratorial nonsense and quit assuming anyone who doesn’t agree with you is an enemy. You’re no different from our enemies in that regard.”

“Listen, guys! I’m fine! I agree with what we’re fighting for. It’s just that it’s a bit weird for me to stand against… y’know, people we used to work with.” Jacques cried out.

Fantine smiled and listened to the conversation quietly. This would be the last time she’d see her friends for quite a while, wouldn’t it?

The thought made her sad. Aside from Marguerite, her crewmates were the closest friends she had made.

“Bah, who cares! They’re going to be defecting to us anyways!” Gaspard said.

Oh, right. There was Gaspard. She didn’t know whether to call him a friend or not. Though… if it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have bothered learning how to use a Sabre.

“Please, stop being so loud, Gaspard.” Guillaume sighed.

Guillaume was a true saint. He taught her how to use a sword. He listened to her problems. Taught her how to get past them, and how to put her past behind her. Even if he did way worse than her in his past… if he could be this good of a person, then she can too.

Fantine lay her gaze on Jacques. She never had a family, and such bonds were alien to her, but this was the closest she ever was to having a younger brother. He only just turned 18. Barely a man, yet already toiling for his family’s sake. She should find him after all this and give him some of the money she’d earn. He and his sister would really need it.

Jacques noticed Fantine staring his way, “Hey, Dupin, you’re not going, right?”

“No. I’m not,” She shook her head, “I promised Enrique I’d help him save his daughter.”

“You did the right thing. Good job.” Guillaume said.

“I just hope I bought enough medicine to last the whole trip.”

“What’s your condition?” Jacques asked.

“The doctor called it phthisis. I used to have it worse, but I’m fine now with medicine.” She answered.

The boy shrunk back, “Yeesh, consumption! Stay away from me then!”

“I’m surprised. You were on death’s doorstep, yet you survived the worst illness since the plague. Now that is called luck.” Guillaume remarked.

Yeah… if she can live through a literal hell, then she can get through whatever lay ahead.

The four of them continued to talk, until Fantine left to sleep for the night.

* * *

The starless sky was a void interrupted only by the waning crescent hanging alone in the darkness. It wasn’t known if the moon’s curvature was smiling or frowning upon all those living under its light, but the day’s events were yet to play out, so it was too early to tell.

Fantine led her brown mare on foot across the border bridge under the cover of darkness. There was a figure leaning against a horse-drawn wagon who waved her over.

She quickened her pace towards the wagon, where Enrique stood, waiting for her.

“Welcome to Spain.” He said in Spanish.

Fantine stopped in front of the wagon and looked around, “Where’s the others?”

“They’re all handing around the town pub. We can meet up with them once we get these harnesses on your horse.” He said, switching to French.

Now that she got a better look, there was only one Horse ready to pull the wagon.

“What happened to the other one?”

“It got sick. We’ll have to use yours.”

She nodded. They got to work removing the saddle from Fantine’s mare and fitting on the carriage harnesses.

“Such a delicate thing… I don’t know if she can pull a wagon like this.” Fantine muttered after binding the harness to the wagon.

“Did you say something, Dupin?” her comrade asked from the driver’s seat.

“Nothing important.” She climbed up onto the seat.

Enrique whipped the horses into motion, and they started down the street. The town hardly had any streetlamps, making navigation a pain.

“Hey, Ulysse,” Enrique said, “Do you mind if I call you that? Saying Dupin feels really impersonal.”

Ulysse? Oh, right. That’s her alias. Then… in that case, “Most people called me by my middle name, Fantine.”

“Then, Fantine, is it?”

She nodded. That… felt good to hear. A smile creeped up on her face. It’s been a year since she heard her own name. Ah… maybe she doesn’t need to wear the mask so tightly after all.

Enrique stopped the horses in front of a large crowd of people blocking the entire street. There must’ve been more than one hundred or so. All identifiable as French soldiers, thanks to the small amount of lights around. Could they just walk into a foreign country scot free?

“Where are the Spanish forces?” She asked.

“Not here. Knowing the people who live in this region, they don’t want to garrison troops here.”

“Huh?”

“The people who live here – the Basques – they don’t like the government very much. So, they’re afraid that garrisoning troops here will anger them.”

“Really?”

“I don’t actually know. That’s just my guess. But the people here probably think we’re still part of the French Army.”

The crowd began singing _Ça Ira_ and raising makeshift tricolours.

“Enrique! Dupin! You’re here!” A voice through all the noise cried. Drouet approached the side of the wagon, “Are you both set to leave?”

“Yeah. We’re just here to see you guys off, actually.” Enrique answered.

Speaking of the others, Gaspard was among the crowd, waving a tricolour, Guillaume was quietly watching the crowd, and Jacques was still rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

“Is that right?” Drouet had a sad smile on his face, “Well, I’m sad to see you both go. Having you with us would be tremendously helpful.”

“Thanks, Drouet. But you know what we’re after.”

“Alright then. You both go your way. Me and the others will stand in the front of the pack, and we’ll take back this country.”

“Hey, Drouet?” Fantine spoke up.

He turned to her, “Yeah, Dupin?”

“Thanks. For everything. I… can’t really say much more than that… even though you’ve done so much for me. I truly mean it from the bottom of my heart. Thank you.”

“Well, it’s been my pleasure. But for now, let’s just relax. We can save the sentiments for later.”

* * *

The mutineers drank and sang for hours into the morning, well past sunrise. By the eighth hour, Colonel Fabvier had managed to build a semblance of order among the men and had them all rally around the border bridge.

By now, the Royal Army was probably ready to begin the invasion. The white flag of the monarchy was already visible across the bridge. It was only a matter of time until the two forces met.

“We’re all set,” Enrique said, climbing up to the wagon’s seat, “Let’s just leave once they meet the army.”

Fantine sat inside the wagon with Drouet’s opera glasses stuck to her eyes, vigilantly watching the scene over at the bridge.

A column of infantrymen slowly marched across the bridge, and finally stopped in front of the mutineers.

From where she was, Fantine could see her fellow cannoneers in the front. There was Gaspard holding a tricolour flag, and Guillaume and Jacques standing aside him. Drouet stood in the front, standing around with a bunch of other officers.

As the infantrymen stopped marching about 10 yards away from the mutineers, _La Marseillaise_ began being sung by the still not yet orderly mob. The infantrymen looked visibly disconcerted. And their officers didn’t know what to do with the situation.

“Enrique, look! They’ve stopped!” Fantine stood up in the wagon to observe the scene better.

“Guess Luck’s on their side, then.” He said, looking over his shoulder at the bridge.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Some of the officers on the side of the mutineers attempted to start dialogue with their loyalist counterparts, but ultimately, nothing came of it.

A minute passed and an officer in an opulent uniform from the French side pushed his way to the front and began yelling something at his men. And then he drew his sabre. And the infantrymen began presenting their muskets. The first two ranks knelt.

And then the shooting began.

The crack of the combined musket fire made an ear-shattering sound that was able to be heard clear as day as far back where Fantine and Enrique observed. The mob of mutineers scrambled to flee the scene.

Fantine felt the urge to vomit from the sight of the massacre, even from her distance.

There was Gaspard, holding his bloody neck while squirming. Guillaume and Drouet both lay limp on the ground, each with an ever-expanding red circle in their uniforms. Jacques lay face down on the ground, unmoving.

“ _Santa Maria_!” Enrique cried in horror, “We’re getting out of here!” He whipped the horses into action.

Fantine sunk to her knees and lowered the binoculars from her face. She covered her mouth with free hand and tried her best to suppress the nausea that overwhelmed her.

This couldn’t have happened. It shouldn’t have happened. They were supposed to get the rest of the army to their side. They were going to go fix their country. They were going to stop the war.

And now they were all dead.

“Fantine!” Enrique called, “You alright?”

She didn’t respond. For a part of her mind was left behind on that bridge. Even as it quickly faded from view, and the duo had long since been surrounded by the rolling hills of Basque Country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Shards of Redemption! We're finally done with the prologue, what lies beyond here is the actual adventure. 
> 
> In this chapter I scar our protagonist for life :DDD  
> Speaking seriously, I really struggled with the massacre scene. I had a picture of it in my head, but I had trouble putting it into words.  
> I could let it sit and edit it forever, but I don't think I'd get anywhere. Might as well just post it and get on with the story.  
> Also, one last thing. There isn't actually a bridge across the river during the this time period (there are two today), but I thought having one would make the scene look better.


	6. Loss - Acceptance - Fluency - The Straggler - San Sebastian - Penniless - Pesos - The Ship - The Factory - The Bounty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK THIS CHAPTER. This isn't my worst writing, but I hated writing this. I had a lot of ideas of what I wanted to do with these temporary characters but they never fell through. And now it's just... this. It feels like a transition chapter. Next chapter should be out faster. I actually think I can pull off what I want to do for the next one.  
> Some of these scenes are quite rushed and others, you can probably tell I was going for something else, but this is the end result.

**Basque Country – April 1823**

The hilly countryside darted past Fantine’s glazed eyes. She hadn’t moved from her seat inside the wagon since both her and Enrique had left that border town. The only thought inside her mind was “ _Why?!_ ”

Why couldn’t she do anything to prevent that bloodbath from taking place?!

The feeling of nausea mostly left her, but she kept her mouth covered all the same. By now, all that shock, disgust, and anger was gone, and all that remained was powerlessness.

“Hey, Fantine. You alright?” Enrique called from the driver’s seat.

She said nothing, so he glanced over his shoulder, “Hey, you listening?”

“Do you remember what Drouet told us when we left?” Fantine croaked.

“Hm…” Enrique sighed, “Yeah. He was pretty beat up about us leaving them behind. I feel pretty bad about it now, even though I really shouldn’t.”

“He said we would be helpful to have around, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. He did.”

“So why couldn’t we just stay and offer them our help?!”

“Fantine, I… don’t know how to answer that. Sorry.” Enrique admitted.

The hills in the distance began to turn black as the sun fell, so they pulled the wagon over to the side of the road and set up camp.

* * *

Half of the next day was spent hiding in wait for the French Army pass them by. Once that was over with, they packed their things and continued along the path at their usual pace.

They rode in silence. Enrique busied himself with watching the road, while Fantine was seated inside the wagon. She occupied herself with polishing her binoculars and occasionally staring at her reflection within the broken mirror she picked up. Her eyes and the area around them were red.

She found neither activity particularly enjoyable. What right did she have to enjoy herself anyways? She was not only a murderer, but a traitor on two accounts: to her country and her friends.

The emotional numbness was exhausting. The more she thought back to the previous day’s events, the worse she felt. Even breathing became a tiring and voluntary action.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Enrique asked, rather abruptly.

“I’m well. Don’t worry about me.” Fantine continued polishing the binoculars in her hand.

“You actually answered this time,” he smiled, “I was starting to think I lost you back there in that town.”

She said nothing in response, so Enrique asked another question, “You want to talk about your daughter?”

She looked up at him, “What? About Cosette?”

“Yeah. Tell me about your daughter.”

“I… well, I haven’t seen her in so long…”

“Did you try sending her a letter?”

“I did.”

“What was it about?”

“I wanted to apologise for never being there for her.”

“I can relate to that pretty well. I used to feel really useless and trapped, but now that we’re here, I can be content in knowing I at least tried to save Costanza. I’m sure you’ll feel the same when this is all over.”

“Yeah… I hope.”

Fantine lifted her head and stared up at the overcast sky, “I was being uncharitable to you earlier, wasn’t I?” She asked.

“Hm? When?”

“Yesterday. When I yelled at you.”

“No, I don’t mind. You were upset, so, I can’t fault you on that, can I?”

Fantine sighed, “I don’t deserve a friend like you.”

“Ah, that’s rubbish. You’re the one who selflessly agreed to give me a hand. It’s the other way around if anything.”

“Hey, Enrique, you’re not going to go die on me, are you?”

He whipped the horses as they begun to slow, “Let’s hope not.”

* * *

A disconcerted young woman on the road forced the two mutineers’ wagon to stop.

She approached the wagon and began speaking Basque at lighting speed before Enrique stopped her and asked, “Can you speak _Castellano_?” in Spanish.

The woman took a deep breath to calm herself, “Ehm… little bit, yes.”

“Can you tell us what the matter is?”

“Um… There was thief… my brother… I show you, yes?” She pointed over to the forest right up ahead.

Enrique turned to Fantine, “You understood her, right?”

She nodded. Enrique had been teaching her Spanish back when they were still in France. They didn’t get to practice too often, but she picked up a significant amount of the language ranging from simple phrases, to some slang. All in all, she could find her way around as a tourist, but she was far from fluent.

“Something about her brother being a thief?”

“What? No,” Her comrade stifled his laughter, “I think she and her brother got robbed over in that forest over there.”

What? A highway robbery? In this day and age?

Ah, right, they weren’t in France anymore.

Fantine looked over at the woman’s concerned expression and then back to Enrique, “Are we going to help her?”

“That’s the thing… if it’s highwaymen, she could by all means be working with them to get more victims.”

This didn’t sit well with her. Should they just leave some woman to die alone on the road over suspicion that they’re working for outlaws?

As much as it hurt to remember, Guillaume’s words resonated within her: do something good, and they’ll remember you well for their whole lives, right?

If so, then, “No,” She shook her head, “Let’s be better and help them. Besides… I’m sure the others would’ve done the same.”

Enrique took a moment to consider his response, “Alright, I’ll follow your judgement,” He turned to the woman and switched to Spanish, “Climb on!”

Which she did. She climbed up to the passenger seat and pointed over to the forest.

“What is your name?” Fantine asked the woman in her badly accented Spanish.

“Maite.” She answered.

“Maite. I am Fantine.” Her Spanish was just as stiff as Maite’s, and it showed.

“Hey, Fantine!” Enrique called, speaking in French, “Grab one of the guns and get it ready to fire. This _is_ a highwayman we’re dealing with.”

* * *

The overcast skies made the forest far darker than it would have been otherwise, but the figure of a man leaning against a tree was still visible from as far back as the wagon. He wore a brown coat, with a strange looking brown cap draped over his head.

“Tomás!” Maite stood upon her seat and waved her arms over to the figure in the woods, allegedly named Tomás.

The wagon was still moving! Does this girl have a death wish?!

Enrique slowed the wagon to a halt. Maite hopped off and ran the rest of the way.

“Wait!” Enrique called, “Damn. Fantine, get ready to shoot just in case!”

They pulled over to the two, who stood at the entrance to the forest.

“Are you alright?!” He asked the man in Spanish.

Fantine poked her head above the wagon and cocked her rifle.

“Y-yes, I am quite alright.” Tomás said in perfect French, “You are from the French Army, right?”

Both Fantine and Enrique blinked in surprise.

“Eeeeeehhhhh… sort of?” Enrique shrunk back slightly.

“Ugh… looks like we’ll have to settle for you lot.” There was a look of disdain in Tomás’ face.

“What?”

“Nothing. Hey, look. Can you take us to San Sebastián? Some thug took our carriage at gunpoint.”

“…Where’s that?”

“Just a few hours east, right down this road we’re on.”

Enrique looked over to Fantine with an inquisitive stare.

She nodded, so he looked back over to Tomás, “Alright, get on.”

“Ah! Great! I am Tomás!” He climbed up to the passenger seat.

“Enrique.” He whipped the horses into motion.

Maite had climbed into the back and took a seat next to Fantine, so she un-cocked the rifle and slung it on her shoulder.

“So, who are these thugs that robbed you?” Enrique asked.

“Oh, you _wouldn’t_ know, would you?!” Tomás’ voice was tinged in venom.

“What? I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You idiots just marched through this whole area, and just let all these thugs do what they want!”

“Look- we… we’re not actually with the French Army. So, whatever your accusing us of doing, we don’t know.”

“But you’ve got those uniforms… wait…”

Enrique swallowed hard.

“You’re with those deserters that passed through?!”

“Tch!” Enrique pulled his shako visor over his eyes.

Fantine couldn’t help but to laugh. Earlier he was the one telling her to be discretionary, but now he backed himself into this corner.

“I take what I said earlier back. You’re alright. You know you Frenchmen used to be pretty good back when you tried to fix this broken country for us.”

“Wait… you, um… never mind.” Fantine mumbled.

Tomás look over his shoulder, “What’s up with blondie back there?”

_What?_

Did he just call her _Le Blond_?

Nooooo way. That was _waaaaaay_ too close to _La Blonde_. All the bitterness from her experiences in Paris started coming back to her.

“My name is Fantine. Nothing else.” She shot him a death glare.

“Jesus! It was just a joke, mate!”

“Something the matter?” Enrique asked.

“Nothing. I just don’t like to be called _blondie_.” She swore, somewhere in Paris, Favourite, Dahlia, and Zephine were all collectively laughing at their memory of her. She resisted the strong urge to grind her teeth.

She looked over to Maite, who looked like she was hardly even listening to whatever was going on. Maite had straight, light brown hair and a green dress. She was also quite short.

Maite met Fantine’s gaze, gave her a large smile, and then returned to whatever fantasy land she was living in.

“Hey, Tomás, right?” Fantine asked, “Where did you learn to speak French so well?” It’s probably worth starting over with him.

“We were born in France. That’s why,” He replied, “Y’know, even if you crossed the border, you’re still in Basque Country.”

“So, you moved here?”

“That’s correct. We moved here a few years ago. The whole city was a god damned mess when we first moved in. Half the place was in ruins and the other half was all construction. Not much of a city, really, but I think we’re recovering well enough.”

“Recovering from what?”

“Right. You wouldn’t know. Let me explain: Back in 1813, Napoleon’s army was still here, and San Sebastián was one of their strongholds here in Basque country. There were a lot of really nice coastal fortifications around the city, which made it a good target for you-know-who.”

She didn’t get the hint, “Who?”

“The Brits! They came with their ships, bombarded the city for three months and then, when you lot surrendered, they pillaged and burnt the entire city to the ground!”

“Oh… I’m sorry that happened.”

“Why’re you apologising?”

“No, I just imagine a lot of people would’ve suffered back then.”

“Yeah. They did. Now you Frenchmen are back, and you’re just letting bandits ply their trade while this country is in shambles! At least the liberals actually tried to help the nation. If the King comes back, we’ll be back to square one. It’s too bad most other Basques are too…”

Fantine stopped listening to him ramble and went back to staring at herself in her mirror. She didn’t mind the politics. In fact, she wanted to know more about this whole situation. But hearing people ramble is the best way to kill all interest she had in the topic.

* * *

San Sebastián was exactly as Tomás described. Half of it was still in ruins, and the other half was all pristine, newly constructed stone buildings. There was a port, some broken down ramparts, a few boats in the harbour, and a busted citadel near the hill. The people who wandered the streets varied from looking absurdly poor, to very well dressed. There wasn’t much traffic on the road, so navigation wasn’t a problem.

This city was a shell of what it probably used to be, and all it took to come to that conclusion was actually paying a visit. How depressing.

Tomás’ home was located in the rebuilt part of town, near the docks. It was a terraced building crammed between two workshops. The inside wasn’t very impressive either. Just a family painting, and a few decorations here and there.

“You live alone, you two?” Fantine asked, shrugging the rifle sling off her shoulder. She placed it in a corner near the front door.

“Yeah. Both of our parents are dead, so it’s just us now.” Tomás said, taking a seat by the empty fireplace in the sitting room.

“ _Both_ of your parents?”

“We’re half siblings.”

“Oh.” Fantine took a good look around the home. There was a thin sword hung up on one of the walls that caught her attention.

“You want something in return for helping us?”

“No. Just a place to stay for the night is good enough.”

“Where’s your friend?”

“He went to put the wagon somewhere else.”

“If you’re running from the Army, I think there was this Englishman who was helping all those deserters escape by boat.”

Is that so? Perhaps she should return here once everything was done with.

“That’s the sword I saw all the Police officers with back in Paris.” She stated, changing the topic to the sword on the wall.

“Hm? Oh. That’s a smallsword. I bought it from the master smith Eneko in Pamplona!”

It was quite a fine blade… she couldn’t imagine how expensive it would be. Did they really have the money to buy such a nice sword?

“I only know how to use a sabre,” She said, “But a sword like this looks very light and easy to handle.”

“So is a sabre, no?”

“Yeah. Where is Pamplona from here?”

“Just a one day trip going Southeast.”

That’s not far at all… perhaps they’ll pay a visit.

* * *

The next morning was pleasant. The sky was like a chessboard of white and blue cirrus clouds blanketing the area. Sometimes the sun peeked through, and sometimes it didn’t. Most workers had already woken up to begin the day, but a significant portion of the city remained indoors, either eating or still in bed.

A loud, exacerbated “Huh?!” pierced the early morning silence.

“You sent all of your money?” Enrique asked from inside the wagon.

“You mean you don’t have any money either?” Fantine asked.

They hid their wagon behind the city church for the day. Thankfully, everything was in place, but the fact that both Fantine and Enrique were penniless remained a problem.

“Yeah… that’s right. I didn’t bring anything either. What in god’s name was I thinking?”

“We could sell some of the stuff we have right now, can’t we?”

“No! We need everything! Especially the…” He hushed his voice, “The weapons.”

“Can’t we just do something for the city?”

“Like work?” he blinked, “That is unbelievably asinine.”

“No- well- what I meant is, maybe we can- no…” She pouted. Her head was empty.

“Well, that’s just great, isn’t it?” He leaned back in his seat, “There’s a bloody criminal running around out there making a killing, while we’re stuck here being broke. What a bloody joke.”

It would be embarrassing… but they could, by all means ask Tomás for some cash. They did save them a long walk home. Ah, but could they really? After she refused to accept a reward from them?

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. In fact, why was she even getting hung up on this anyways? She used to not care about what people thought of her back in Montreuil, but as her dignity came back over the previous year, so did her old social stiffness.

As much as it pained her to suggest, “Why don’t we go ask Tomás for some money?”

* * *

“Why not. You gave me a hand even after I chewed your ears out for politics,” Tomás said, standing in the doorway, “How much do you need?”

Our heroes stood outside with their Shakos in their hand, and their heads lowered.

“Just enough for a good map of the country and some food.” Enrique said.

Speaking of which… Fantine needed some paper and a pencil. And that won’t be cheap either…

“Let’s see… a decent map would be about… five pesos?”

 _Pesos_?

“Is that the money here?” Fantine asked.

“Yeah. _Pesos_. _Pieces of eight_ _Reals_.” Enrique answered.

“I don’t get it.”

“Think of Pesos and Reals like Francs and Sous.”

“You two can enjoy your economics discussion, I’ll go get the money.” Tomás said, as he turned and disappeared into the house.

* * *

“I don’t know what I expected, but he delivered…” Enrique mumbled staring at the coins in his hand.

“We helped him, didn’t we?” Fantine smiled.

The two were returning to their wagon after buying the supplies they needed. It was still the morning, but most of the city’s inhabitants had already begun their day’s work. The docks were the busiest part of the city. There were a few ships in the harbour. Mostly fishing vessels and trade ships. The odd one out of the bunch was a clipper ship with the union jack flying on the mast.

“That’s an English ship.” Enrique said, catching her staring in the clipper’s direction.

“Really? I think Tomás said something about an Englishman taking in the deserters that survived.”

“Well, there’s your way out.” He seemed more interested in staring at his newly bought map than he did about this topic.

So, she returned to observing the docks.

There was a strangely dressed man wearing what looked like an animal’s tail on his head at one of the piers. The two locked eyes for a moment until Fantine deliberately looked away.

“So, where are we headed?” She asked.

“Our destination is La Rioja, so we’ll be taking the road south to Pamplona first, then west.”

 _Pamplona_! That’s the city where that master smith lived! She’ll have to remind herself to pay him a visit.

“What’s Pamplona like?”

“Definitely better than this place. It’s the capital of Navarre, and also one of the oldest cities in the country.”

“Navarre? I swear I’ve heard that term before…”

“That’s because the King of France also calls himself _King of Navarre_.”

“We’ll be in France then?”

“No. He’s only the King in name. Spain owns Navarre.”

 _What?_ Then how was the King of France claiming to be the King of a land he doesn’t own?

“I don’t get it…”

“Don’t worry. I don’t get it either. This is why you got rid of your King in the first place, yeah?”

Leaving the city took an hour to do. They had bought some dried meat and cheap wine from the market and making room for it among the weapons and ammunition they had filled the wagon with was both time and labour consuming, factoring in all the rearranging of heavy cargo. It was noon by the time they left.

* * *

“I used to work in a factory, you know.” Fantine said, staring off at the veritable canvas of blue and white that was the sky. They had ridden in silence since leaving the city. She didn’t mind the quiet, but conversation kept her mind off of darker things.

“Really? You never told me about that before.” Her comrade said.

“I never particularly enjoy remembering my past. It’s all one mistake after another.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She considered her words before starting, “Right after leaving Cosette, I went back to my hometown because I heard a new factory opened up. So, I went and got a job there.”

“So, how’d the job go then?”

“Fine for the first year or so. I had everything set for me until I was fired quite suddenly.”

Enrique whipped the horses, “Yeah, that’s how factories work. Exploit the workers, pay them a pittance, and then discard them if they become a liability.”

“A liability? I don’t ever think I became one. Did I?”

“You’ll have to tell me more. Why’d you get fired?”

“Well…” She considered her words. It won’t hurt if she told him as close to the truth as possible, would it? “There was a rule that all the workers had to be of ‘good moral character’. I was fired because someone found out that Cosette was born out of wedlock.”

“Cosette is- oh, I won’t pry then.”

The two fell silent as the road led the two into a dense forest.

* * *

“STOP!” A man dressed in a black jacket and a black hat emerged from the trees and pointed two pistols at Enrique, forcing him to stop the horses.

The sun, with its position at the top of the sky, acted as a spotlight on the road itself. The man’s pistols glistened as he pulled the hammers to cock.

Reading the situation, Enrique raised his hands and let go of the reins.

The man spoke in Spanish, “Gentlemen, this is a robbery! Get off the wagon and get on the ground!”

“Fantine. You heard him.” Enrique hopped off the driver’s seat with his hands still in the air.

She did the same, and then walked over to where her comrade stood, in front of both pistols.

“Lay on the ground and don’t move!”

They complied.

The highwayman chuckled and climbed up to the back of the wagon. He pulled the cloth cover off of the cargo, revealing everything inside.

Five muskets and rifles each, bundled together with rope. Old Marie and its disassembled limber, a small crate filled with gunpowder, the case containing all the cannon charges, a crate filled with 6-pound cannonballs, and then a bunch of spare supplies, including clothes, flints, and food.

“ _Ay Carmela_!” The highwayman said in surprise, “Soldiers! Looks like I can’t let you live, now, can I?”

Fantine looked over to Enrique. She couldn’t see his face, but his hands were clenched. Shouldn’t they do something now?! Their assailant was up on the wagon, couldn’t they sneak away?

She nudged her comrade’s arm and began crawling under the wagon. The highwayman climbed off and pointed his pistols at the two, causing Fantine to stop in her tracks, “Well, I don’t normally kill my catch, but if I let you off, you’ll go mouth off about this to your superiors, and they’ll come looking for me.”

This was it, wasn’t it?

It all ends here. Not by starvation. Not by illness. But by the hands of a thief.

The wind howled, and the trees violently swayed with the gale. The leaves covered the air like snowflakes.

“Well. Rest in-”

A gunshot rang out from the woods. The birds fled from the trees.

“AAAAAHHHH!” The man dropped his pistols and held his leg in pain, as he fell down to his side.

Both of the deserters scrambled to their feet and seized the man’s pistols, turning them on their previous owner.

Fantine’s heart was racing as her death-readiness wore off, and the fear left her.

She coughed into her arm.

“That was a bloody miracle… I swear it was over then and there.” She said through deep breaths.

“Y’all are welcome,” A voice came from the woods to their left. A man with an absurdly long rifle slung over both of his shoulders approached the three, “I’m gonna have to ask you two to step away from my prey.” He spoke with a particularly strange dialect of French she had never heard.

Wait a minute, this was that strange man she saw on the docks! He had the same hat and the same outlandish dress as before. Now that she got a good look at him, all he was wearing was brown animal skins with tassels coming off the sleeves and trousers. She couldn’t see his hair, he had hazel eyes.

“Who are you?” Enrique asked. He seemed to have taken being robbed at gunpoint rather well.

He spat on the ground, “Henri Girod. I’m getting paid to drag this damn yellow-belly back to town. So, git lost.”

Fantine turned to Enrique for his reaction to all this, but he had already climbed back up to the front of the wagon. She faced Girod instead, “Thank you.” She smiled.

He nodded his head and approached the highwayman, who was starting to crawl away.

“AAAAAAH!” The thief cried, after Girod stomped on his wounded leg.

Fantine grimaced at Girod’s cruelty and climbed up to the back of the wagon where she usually sat. The horses were whipped into action, and the two mutineers continued along their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I represented Basque country better than I did here. There's a lot of history that I just stumbled over and didn't get to put in. Historically, during the 1823 Spanish Expedition, the Basques mainly supported the French because the Cadiz Cortes decided to rescind a lot of their historical privileges and centralise the country. And me, like an idiot, didn't actually put any of this down in the story.  
> Oh well. I have one more chance next chapter to get it right.
> 
> On the topic of Tomas and Maite:  
> They were supposed to have a subplot where Maite was supposed to know the highwayman personally, and I was going to have the gang hunt for the highwayman on their own. And... none of it came to because it felt like I was doing way to much in one chapter, and spending too much energy on a small part of the story. I feel like I made the right choice.  
> You all can probably see small details where I actually take careful effort to characterise Maite. That's a vestige of my original draft. 
> 
> I also feel like im losing my grasp of Fantine's character so I'm going to study her character a bit again.
> 
> That second to last scene where they talk about the factory... uhhhhhhh, when I was writing that, I had a vision of what I wanted but it started to drag. The whole chapter started to drag. So I just ended it early. As for the topic that scene discussed, we'll return to it next chapter.
> 
> Right, well, some history:  
> Clippers. Clippers are THE 19th century sailing ship. It's honestly more of a Victorian thing, but they got their start around this time period. Eventually, steam ships overtook them, but they still remain THE ship of the popular imagination. Imagine a sailboat in your head. You are most likely imagining a clipper. All those paintings of ships and those bottled ships, are all mostly of clippers.
> 
> Also, Smallswords. I've read some fics featuring Javert, where they describe the sword he would've worn as a Rapier. By all means, he could. But rapiers hadn't been in fashion since the early 1700's. By the 1800's, the main swords that were worn were smallswords by the civilians, and sabres by the military. The smallsword still lives on today. The modern Fencing Foil is essentially just a practice smallsword :DDD
> 
> As for San Sebastian... well, it's called Donostia by the Basques. I called it by it's spanish name first, so I just stuck with it. Also, since this takes place 5+ years after the Siege of San Sebastian, I just assumed it looked half ruins half new. That's probably wildly inaccurate, but I don't have any sources of what the city looked like in 1823, so I had to wing it.
> 
> Anyways. Expect some action next chapter :DDDD


	7. The road ahead - Pamplona - The Swordsmith - Change of plans - The Bardenas Reales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to wish I was better at coming up with story stuff in a short amount of time. Taking more than 2 weeks to post doesn't feel good.  
> I was OK with most of what I got down here. Thought, there wasn't really any action in this chapter. Next one though!

**Navarre – 8 April 1823**

The sun was hidden behind a wall of grey, yet it’s light still seeped through to the earth below. The hills had begun to flatten into a wide plane. Both sides of the road were farmland, as opposed to the forested hills they were in before. The vineyards and farms around them had many people working in them around the clock to plant the year’s crops. The air was still quite cold, thanks not only to the altitude, but also the little ice age.

The pair of mutineers had stopped at the side of the road to let their horses relive themselves. Fantine, as usual, hung back inside the wagon, while Enrique stood on the grass, holding onto both horses’ reins. They had been travelling for a day, and, aside from getting mugged at gunpoint, the trip was uneventful. They had passed a few towns in the mountains, but never stopped for too long, as none of the locals could speak Spanish or French.

Fantine didn’t sleep well the night before thanks to being on the receiving end of a loaded gun. Turns out, being faced with imminent death isn’t something people tend to forget.

Jesus, why’d this have to happen to her? Why did she keep getting into these sorts of situations?

In the interests of preventing her mindset from driving her insane, Fantine looked over to observe Enrique, who was still standing around, watching the horses. He wasn’t wearing his shako so the pensive expression on his face was clear to see.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget having a gun pointed at me.” She sighed.

“You get used to it.” Enrique replied, tying the horses back to the wagon.

“Oh,” Yeah. One would suppose that makes sense… wait, “ _What_?” She did a double take.

He raised his eyebrow, “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘get used to it’?”

He climbed up to the front seat, “It’s not important. Just forget I said anything.”

Then why did he bring it up?

Never mind… thinking about it, she didn’t know much about his past, nor did he know much of hers. Maybe these things are best left unsaid. She didn’t really care if he found out about all the blunders in her past, but the thought of him finding out she was a woman gave her constant anxiety.

She sighed.

“You know, Fantine,” Enrique looked over his shoulder, “There was something you said a while ago that stuck with me.”

“What’s that?”

“When Tomás was talking about how his city was destroyed, you offered an apology for all the people who were affected.” He whipped the horses into motion.

“Was that strange?”

“No. You’re a very empathetic person. I admire that about you.”

Fantine’s blood rushed to her face, “O-oh, um, thank you.”

“Ha, weren’t expecting a compliment, were you?”

“No. No, I wasn’t,” She smiled, “I don’t often get compliments like that.”

There was a scrunching sound of paper as Enrique unfolded their map, “Well, what sort of compliments do you usually receive?”

Oh, well… usually just her looks. Her hair, teeth, clothes, that sort of thing… but she can’t say that, can she?

“It’s nothing important,” she smirked, borrowing his words from earlier, “So, how far are we from Pamplona?”

“Hm, not too far. Should only be a few more hours until we can probably see the city over yonder,” He stretched out his arm and offered her the map, “Here, take a look.”

She took hold of the map, “I can’t read though…” she mumbled.

“Right, yeah. I forgot about that. Didn’t ah… didn’t Drouet teach you maths instead?”

She rested on the side of the wagon with her face on her fist, “Fat load of good that did.”

“Oh, come on, what are you complaining about? You can learn to read whenever you want. But mathematics is something most literate people don’t even bother with. Hell, I hardly even know any maths myself.”

“Really? It was fairly easy for me, though.”

“Was it? What was the hardest thing you learned, then?”

“Hm… probably differentials. But it was more tedious than difficult.”

“I… don’t know what that is, and I’m not going to bother asking any further.”

“To be frank, I don’t believe any of my maths knowledge could be used in anything but aiming a cannon. And we don’t have any paper…” She trailed off for a moment, as her brain processed what she said, “Christ! We never brought any paper, did we?!”

“No, we didn’t. Nothing to write with either. Guess we can just buy some paper in town.”

“But we hardly have any money…”

“Hm… we could sell our swords. I don’t think we’ll be needing them.”

“Alright.”

There was a famous sword maker in Pamplona, she remembered. What did Tomás say his name was again? Eneko? Maybe it’d be worth trying to sell to him.

It’s too bad she never bothered asking what his last name was. But maybe ‘Eneko the swordsmith’ would be good enough if she asked the right person.

Fantine shot a glance at her sabre, which was leaning against the corner of the wagon. She reached to pick it up and pushed apart the brass-hilted blade away from its steel scabbard.

_Jesus_ , it felt so comfortable to hold that it made her skin crawl. This was a tool made to _kill_ people with! So, why was it so natural to wield?

The sword slipped out of her trembling grip and fell to the wagon’s floor with a light _thud_. No, she knew the reason why it fit her so well. That’s why she needed to get rid of this thing as soon as possible.

“Something wrong?” Enrique asked.

“No, I’m fine.” She reached down to pick up the sword and slid it back into its scabbard.

* * *

Pamplona was a city under occupation. The white flag of King Louis fluttered above the town’s fort, and his soldiers stood around every corner of the city. But despite the foreign element, the city remained fully intact. People were still walking about the streets, conducting their daily affairs. Unlike in San Sebastián, there were no crumbling walls, no ruins, no slums filled with squatters, no visible scars of war.

It was much like Paris in the year 1817. That city, which was the marvel of all Europe, was under joint military occupation by the coalitionary powers of the UK, Prussia, and Russia. Life didn’t change, though. The Parisians remained Parisians and the popular sentiment remained unchanged. No more did the tricolour fly high above the Panthéon and the white banner was commonplace. Napoléon was gone, but Paris remained. And as the popular saying goes, ‘history marches on’. Despite the passage of 20 years and despite the devastating and humiliating blow to the nation, the 1800’s had only just begun! There were still 80 more years left to go! Who could even imagine what would be in store for the future? Those flying balloons from the Sorbonne could be everywhere! Every man would own 7 horses! Poverty would be abolished! Ah, the year 1815 may have been a sorrowful one, but for sure, 1915 would propel the world to new heights of wonder and glory!

But, alas, this was not Paris. This was Pamplona, a relatively small, but extremely old city. The buildings all had gabled roofs with red tiles. There were some colourful buildings, but most kept the brown to light brown hue of the stone found right outside the city. Public squares were swarmed with pedestrians and shopkeepers looking over their market stalls. The church steeples stuck above the roofs of most buildings and were visible from outside the city. The fort at the southern edge of the city towered over everything else. Small, light cannons jutted out of the ramparts, and the silhouettes of armed, blue-clad soldiers on patrol could be seen from the farthest corners of the city. Outside the foreign occupation, this was your typical southern European city.

Fantine had to enter the city alone. But the process of doing so was incredibly simple. The two soldiers stationed at the city gates were drunk out of their mind, so she was able to get in without any trouble or having to explain the two swords that she brought along with her. She had left her uniform in the wagon and instead, wore the clothes that Marguerite had given her more than a year prior. She wasn’t as emaciated and malnourished as she was back then, but the clothes were still far too big for her. The rolled-up sleeves on her yellow coat and brown trousers resulted in her looking like a beggar headed for the _Cour des miracles_ in Paris. Only her black hat really fit, but it like the cherry on top for the fashion disaster she paraded around as.

Bah, what was she doing? On to find this Eneko person!

She looked at the amount of people around her and wondered if she would ever find who she was looking for. Or if he even spoke any language she knew, for that matter.

There was a French soldier leaning against a building at the street corner with a letter in his hand. Maybe she should just bite the bullet and see if she could talk to him.

With a deep breath, she approached the soldier, “Excuse me.”

The soldier folded his letter and looked up, “Get lost.” He scowled.

Alright, bad idea, “You don’t seem like a very helpful person anyways.” She turned to leave.

“Wait! Sorry, I thought you were a local. I didn’t expect a good Frenchman,” He stuffed his letter into his pocket, “What did you want?”

“Do you know of any swordsmith named Eneko?”

“Eneko? I’ve heard that name said about a million times here… but a swordsmith… I think one of the lieutenants was getting all excited about some workshop that sold swords over at the square. You should probably just check over there.”

Well… that’s something at least, “Alright, thanks. And goodbye.” She smiled.

* * *

Places of employment always had a different feeling from residential ones. The sense of busyness pervaded the air, as people rushed by on their daily dalliances to provide for themselves and their families.

The workshop Fantine sought was a relatively simple building that sat snug at the street corner, among the busiest crowds of the public square. There were 2 storeys, of which the ground floor had an open window to let in air.

There was a sign above the door in big white letters, but of course, our heroine is illiterate. Well, she could make out some of the letters. There was a lowercase E, which was the Napier’s constant. The letter A and N, both of which were common symbols for variables. Also-

Oh! Right, she was supposed to be selling her swords.

Fantine knocked at the door, and then pushed it open slightly to peek her head inside. Normally, a smithy would be a rather loud place. A hammer, _clanging_ against iron. Bellows, _hissing_ the fire to life. Boys working under an apprenticeship being loud and moving about.

Nothing of that sort was present. It was dead quiet, especially for such a busy neighbourhood such as this. Inside, no fire raged in the furnace. The anvil was set aside. There weren’t even any assistants present.

There was a moustachioed man leaning over a counter in the centre of the room, holding his head in both hands. The way his dark hair was pushed up by his cracked fingers showed off that ghastly silver colour that lay underneath that so displayed the death of youth.

“Excuse me, but do you currently have the name Eneko?” Fantine attempted in her atrocious Spanish. She pushed open the door completely.

The man rose slowly, and with a sigh, “Yes. And no, I’m not hiring anyone right now.”

Then… this was him? For such an accomplished and famous swordsmith, she would’ve expected him to have a far showier workshop. No displays. Barren walls. Not even any of his best work up to show.

“I am here to sell to you.” She lifted the swords in both of her hands.

“Oh, is that so? Bring them here. I thought you were a vagrant looking for work. Since that’s what you seem to enjoy dressing as.”

She decided to ignore that last comment and place the swords on the counter over by Eneko stood, “What price would you say?”

Eneko didn’t respond, but instead, he asked a question in French equal to the quality of his customer’s Spanish, “Where did you get these?”

“I… you can speak French?” She asked, reverting to her main language.

“I can. I’m not very good,” The smith switched back to Spanish, “I think you can understand me, and I can understand you if we both spoke in our own tongues. Now, again: where did you get these?”

“Um…”

“Actually, I don’t really care. I’ll buy them for about twenty Pesos each.”

“Really? You’d buy them that cheap?”

“I’m not a pawnbroker, lad. I’m only accepting these because I’m running out of decent steel.”

Fair enough, “Alright. I’ll take what I can get,” She sighed, “What caused you to run out in the first place?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? It was because of that scoundrel Napoléon!” He banged his fist on the counter, “If he hadn’t invaded the country, then we wouldn’t be in this mess of an economy to begin with! Things were just fine until he and his brother came in to ruin our country. That war tore everything this country stood for apart!”

“You’re still facing all this trouble because of a war that long ago?”

“Ten years is nothing. If you want proof, go up to San Sebastián and see what horrid condition that city is in.”

“Actually, I just came from there, but I think I see what you mean. Half of that city was in a sorry state.”

“Could you believe that was one of the richest cities in this whole country? I ordered my steel from outside the country since it’s cheaper, and it would be sent to me from the docks in San Sebastián. But ever since that whole place was torched to the ground, I’ve had to buy my steel from all the way in the south which takes ages to get here and costs a fortune to purchase!”

“But, aren’t you famous?”

“Who told you that?”

“A friend up in San Sebastián showed me a very fine sword you made and told me your name.”

“Look, lad. That’s flattering. It really is. But I’m only a second-rate swordsmith. The only work of real finery I’ve made this past year was a knife for some well-to-do landowners that don’t even live here anymore.”

“Oh.”

“Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve got clients, but I don’t really have the luxury to be making awesome works of art while I’m swimming in debt to a hyena like Manuel de Villafuerte! I hope he chokes on the sand of that desert he lives in!” The bags under his eyes became particularly visible as he ranted.

Poor man. Just like her, life hadn’t seemed to be easy on him for quite some time. But unlike her, he was stuck here, like a factory worker whose labour was being exploited for someone else’s benefit. This whole thing felt obscenely unfair.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Who is this Manuel de Villa…?”

“Never you mind! I said nothing!” He pulled open a drawer and produced two gold coins, “I’ve got some gold Louis’ here for you. Just take them and go.”

As she reached out to pick up the coins, the cry of an older sounding man was heard from outside the backdoor.

“What’s going on?” She asked, suddenly concerned. No way that could be good…

The cries became increasingly visceral as the seconds passed. Fantine felt her stomach turn at the thought of whatever was going on back there.

She grabbed her sabre from the counter and rushed to pull the door open.

There was an old man lined up against the wall with a knife pointed against him by a younger man wearing plain brown clothes and a grey beret.

Fantine pulled the sabre out of its scabbard and held it facing forward as she inched closer to the mugger, “Leave,” she said, sounding as menacingly as she could, “Now.”

The thief pulled his beret lower and ran whence he came. The older man leaned against the wall to catch this breath. He didn’t look to be hurt very much, thankfully. He muttered something in Basque to her and stumbled away.

She noticed the sabre quivering in her left hand, and her heart sank, “Christ…”

“Nicely done!” Eneko stood in the doorway behind her with a grin in his face, “You saved that man’s life!”

“I…. I did?” Her face meshed into a small smile as part of her mind attempted to suppress the feeling of pride welling inside her. Did that really happen?

“I thought this was something used to kill people with…” She lifted the sabre slightly and stared at her reflection in the steel.

“It _can_ be used to kill. But it can also be used in the way you used it just now. To protect someone.” Eneko stated.

“I was in such a rush to get rid of this, I didn’t even consider it could be used like that. I- I’m going to keep this one.” Her hand stopped shaking.

She returned one of the coins and then aimlessly wandered around the city for a moment.

* * *

“I bought some paper and a pencil from town.” Fantine said, approaching Enrique, who was laying in the back of the wagon.

Both of Fantine’s hands were full. In one was a wad of paper folded in half and a bag of food (dried meat, cheese, etc.) in the other.

Enrique sat up and looked down to face her, “How much money do you have left?”

“Mmm, around 10… they’re Pesos, right?”

“Obviously.”

“The smith gave me a Napoléon, so I didn’t really know how it worked. I thought the money was different here?”

“Everyone in Europe, save for the English, accept Napoléons. It’s sort of like a unified currency, I guess.”

“Wow, really?”

He nodded, “So, how was the city?”

“I stopped a robbery.” She grinned.

“You did _what_?” He raised an eyebrow.

“There was an old man getting robbed outside the workshop when I was selling the sabres. So, I took mine back and used it to scare the thief off!”

“That’s great. But please, stop getting involved in these things.”

“And let him get hurt? You weren’t there!” She climbed up to the back of the wagon and placed her luggage into the empty space near the cannon, “I find it hard to believe you’d stand to the side while someone screams for help.”

Enrique didn’t reply. Instead, he sighed and took his seat at the front with the horses, “What was the smith like? You said he was famous.” He asked, changing the subject.

“He didn’t seem to be doing well at all. He said the last war ruined his business. And that he’s in debt to someone named Manuel de… Villefort was his name?”

Enrique’s eyebrows shot up, “Manuel de Villafuerte?!”

“Do you know him?”

“… He’s the man I addressed ransom money to. He’s the one who has Costanza.”

“So, we’re going after him?”

“We’re going after Costanza. Not him. But we’ll probably run into him in whatever hovel they keep her in.”

“Actually, I think Eneko said something about a desert to the south.”

“A desert?” He opened their map and poured his eyes over it, “What desert? You must be out of your mind…”

“That’s what he said.”

There was a pause. And then, “ _Ay Carmela_! There really _is_ a desert!”

“Really?”

“The _Bardenas Reales_! It's only a day's trip to the south!"

* * *

“When do I whip the horses again?” Fantine asked from the front of the wagon.

Enrique’s eagerness to set out for the Bardenas Reales had them on the road for the rest of the day. Fantine fell asleep soon after twilight fell, but her comrade kept the horses going until dawn, when she awoke.

“…when they slow down,” Enrique yawned, “Just focus on the road.”

“Right.” She whipped the horses, making an audible _pat_.

The great canvas of blue was dotted with small, scattered, orange and purple hued clouds. The sun had peeked above the far-off hills and began ushering in the light of day. Earth’s shadow had divided the sky into the three distinct colours of indigo, orange and grey.

They stopped at sunrise for a moment so she could get changed. Fantine threw on her uniform and tied her white sash belt, and did everything else, but decided not to bother putting on her damn gaiters. She could see the utility in wearing them since the lower parts of her trousers were in such good condition but putting them on was a damn pain. But damn, did they look nice with her shoes.

The further south they went, the more civilised their surroundings became. There were more villages, dotting the area with houses. Sheets of brown were plastered over green hills where men from the surrounding areas worked to plant this year’s crops. The roads were marginally better. The land was flatter and less rocky. There weren’t any more vast forests that obstructed their pace, nor were the skies perpetually overcast like up north. The scenery had changed so drastically since they left the hills it felt like they entered a new country.

“I can tell you’re getting distracted.” Enrique called.

She looked over her shoulder to see that Enrique was covering his eyes with his arm, and his head hung over the side of the wagon.

“Well, what do I do?”

“Keep an eye on the road and make sure you’re not driving us off a cliff.”

Right. They were going to the desert over there. She squinted her eyes at the blurry brownish-grey mountains in the distance. Damn! Why did her eyes have to be this bad? What’d she even do to deserve this?

“Hey, can you pass me my coat?” She asked.

Enrique sighed. The wagon creaked slightly, and some cloth rustled before her coat fell on the seat next to her.

She dug into the coat pockets and retrieved her opera glasses, “Thanks mate.”

“Mhm.”

Far in the distance was a massive flat-topped mountain that stretched out for ages. There were some dark patches of shrubs growing on the sides, but that was all she could see. The entire structure was so different from the other hills that it was like a talisman.

“My word… do you see this?” She said.

There wasn’t any response, so she put her binoculars down and looked over her shoulder, “Enrique?”

“… yeah, yeah. I heard you. Just try not to get distracted like you usually do.”

“Do I get distracted often?”

“Yes. _Very_. Every few moments you start staring off into nothing. I don’t mind it most of the time, but now, I need you on alert.”

“Alright. I’ll try.”

How long has she had this habit anyways? For as long as she can remember, she always retreated into her head when she had nothing else to do. She had an extremely vivid imagination, allowing her to play entire stories and scenarios in her own head. It was just something she did that made her feel comfortable. Not really something she put too much thought into. Though she didn’t know how doing that made look “queer,” to quote Favourite.

“You’re doing it again.”

“…Sorry.”

“I’m going to sleep. Wake me up if something happens.” Enrique mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you make it this far, thanks for sticking around, even if you think this fic is the stupidest shit ever.   
> One thing I'm concerned about here is that I really don't know how in character Fantine is at this point. I'm trying my best. It was relatively easier to portray her character earlier when I only had to depict a static environment, but large adventures have a tendency to change people, especially after witnessing something deeply traumatic.  
> I also had someone read some of my original work and got it torn to shreds. Turns out I have a problem with showing and not telling, so towards the end I made an attempt to fix these things.
> 
> Alright, some historical stuff:  
> Pamplona. Pamplona's the second largest mainly Basque city, and it's pretty important, historically speaking. In this time period, it was relatively well off, compared to the rest of Basque country. It wasn't damaged much during the Peninsular war, but the other effects of the war (notably the destruction of San Sebastian and the destruction of the Spanish fleet at Trafalgar, and a bunch of important basque companies getting shut down). Basically, this entire era FUCKED them up the ass real hard and this resulted in basque popular support for Carlist rebels during the First Carlist War in 1833 (This is something I might touch on in this fic).
> 
> Gold Napoleons were actually accepted all across continental europe (except the UK), and wikipedia called them the "proto-euro". How fitting. It was too interesting to not include, so I added that in.
> 
> Anyways, I'm going to try to figure out how to get these out faster.


	8. Reflections - Deadlands - A charade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took only 2 weeks to write. I didn't do shit for the first week. The next two just kinda blew past as I wrote most of this and then slowly added more details. I went too hard on the details on this one, but I do feel like my prose style is changing. Hopefully not for the worse.

**Bardenas Reales – 9 April 1823**

The sky above was nearly featureless apart from the sun beaming down upon the Earth. It was like an artist leaving his work unfinished, yet still sending a message across to anyone viewing. Like all pieces of art, the message was up to interpretation. Did the cloudless sky represent clarity? Or did it represent the vast blue of the high seas, brimming with opportunity? Regardless, to our heroine this meant nothing, as she was never afforded the opportunity to hone that critical eye that leads mankind to these conclusions.

“There is nothing here, is there?” Fantine found herself muttering to nobody in particular while staring at her surroundings and tapping her foot. She was in vast meadow of dead grass as far as the eye could see. The cracked dirt and the crunchy vegetation made the ride bumpy and uncomfortable. The dirt path had long since thinned to nothing upon scaling the initial few hills, making proper navigation near impossible. The only useable bearing was the barren hills directly ahead. The horses began to slow and whipping them did nothing to make them pick speed. Fantine didn’t know what to do, so she just continued towards the mountains. She swore she saw a horseman in the distance but shrugged off the thought. Nothing would be here in this bloody wasteland anyway, she found herself thinking. Why even bother getting paranoid in a place like this?

She felt her lips shrivelling up, and when licking them did nothing, she popped open her canteen and took a sip of the stream water she collected the other day, careful not to drink too much. In moments like these her experiences of abject baseness and utter destitution prepared her well. But of course, her choice then was merely delaying the inevitable, rather than offer an actual solution to her woes, which did not actually exist given the hand she was dealt then.

Truth be told, water wasn’t exactly something she was ever concerned with. Montreuil-sur-Mer had a river passing right through and was only a fifteen-minute walk away from her home. And if she weren’t up for the walk, there was plenty of other ways to get a hold of water if she needed. This rendered her a total stranger to the careful art of crossing a desert that had long been mastered by the Bedouins of Africa, or, just under a millennium prior, the Moorish Taifas that controlled these very lands. So, ‘why?’, one may ask, does Fantine know to preserve water in such an alien land?

The answer is that very same affliction she suffered with back in her hometown. Poverty warps the brain. It humbles those who would have once commanded entire armies. It births temperance out of the most boisterous socialite. And it forms kindness in the heart of even the most vengeful individual. One may call this virtuous, but there is a dark side to virtue. Humility begets indignity. Temperance begets miserliness. And kindness begets self-loathing. Fantine, having suffered all three, was no stranger to being incredibly stingy with her possessions.

She tightened the cap on her canteen and paced it on the seat next to her, returning her attention to the wasteland that surrounded.

Behind her, the wagon creaked a bit as Enrique woke.

“Are we here?” He yawned.

“I’m not sure.” She replied.

“I would imagine this is a desert, no?”

She shrugged, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen a desert in my life before.”

Enrique unfolded the map in his pocket with a low grumble, “Alright, lets figure out where we are… how long was I asleep?”

“You slept through the whole morning.”

“And you didn’t change direction?”

She shook her head no.

“Then we should be there already… why are we going so slow?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to get the horses to go faster for a while now, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“ _What_? Stop the horses!” He was fully awake now. Even more so, as the wagon quickly ground to a halt and he jerked forward slightly.

Fantine sighed as Enrique unfastened the harnesses on the horses. This was only the first time she did this, how would she know she had to let them stop?

Those poor horses…

They stood like that for a few minutes as the horses grazed on what little living grasses there were.

“How much water do you have?” Enrique asked.

“My canteen’s mostly full, so I guess it’s enough for a day.”

“Do you mind if we share? The horses need water, so I’ll have to use most of mine.”

She clicked her tongue. This wasn’t going to be easy, was it? She picked up her canteen and shook it in her hand, feeling the sloshing around of its contents, “How long are we even going to be here?”

The question seemed to take Enrique by surprise, who blanked off into space for a moment, as if something important dawned on him, “Christ, I never really planned this out, did I?”

“What do you mean?” Fantine asked, slightly concerned.

“I dragged us out to this wasteland without any actual lead as to who we’re looking for!”

Oh dear, “Now what do we do?”

He sighed, “We’ll just have to make this work out somehow. Ehm… once we’re there, try to um… keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.”

“Alright,” She passed Enrique his canteen from the back.

They switched seats once the horses were done resting and then continued on. Neither of the two spoke much, until Enrique broke the silence, “There used to be this hill in my hometown that I used to take Costanza to. Much like that hill in front of us.”

She turned her attention to her friend, “Really?”

“There was this old, ruined castle there, and I would walk around the area, just enjoying the feeling of being there.”

She imagined him inside a crumbling building alongside a woman holding a girl in her arms.

“Was her mother there as well?”

“I… well, her mother and I were great friends. But no. She wasn’t. I don’t think she ever met Costanza more than once.”

“I can relate.”

This caused Enrique to smirk, “Trust me, whatever way you can relate is probably entirely different from my own experience.”

“…Alright.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an arse just now.”

“It’s fine. Cosette’s um, yeah, they left us long ago. That’s what I meant by that comment.”

“Just a question, did she call you _Le Blond_ by any chance?”

Her jaw dropped, “How did you know?!” She half-asked half-exclaimed.

“Pff, hahaha, you leave a lot of hints about your past for people who just happen to be careful listeners.”

“Yes, but how could you _possibly_ know that?”

“Remember when you got upset at Tomás when he called you that?”

Ah. That. Jesus, he had a really good memory.

“Do I really do that though? Leaving out subtlety in my speech?”

“Yeah. Just one of many bad habits of yours.”

She wanted to respond, but upon realising that what he said was basically true, her words came out instead like low grumbling.

“When did she leave you?” Enrique asked, seemingly without much thought.

Fantine sighed, and then, after a long pause, “Around spring in 1817. I left Paris soon after and worked at that factory in my hometown.”

“Ah, now the pieces are coming together! So, what did you do before then?”

“I was an um… I worked for a tailor.” She said, slightly tweaking her story. She was actually a seamstress, but working for a tailor was much the same, she imagined.

“Sounds like you had things working well for you. Why’d you leave the city?”

“I- I don’t know. Back when we were together, it seemed like it would always be that way. We’d raise Cosette and then grow old. But then they left because of their parents or some other excuse. And all of a sudden nothing really seemed to make me happy anymore. Every time I went out, I saw countless couples and I couldn’t stop thinking that just a few days prior, _I was one of them_. It drained me. It really did. I couldn’t stand even being within Paris at that point. So, I sold all my things and left.” Had she said this just a year prior, she’d be in tears. Few things pain the heart such like loss. And in the case of Fantine, being discarded like a plaything by Tholomyès remained a painful scar on her heart. Alas, what tears she had to shed were given instead to her dear friends who perished at the border, and for them, the skin under her eyes were still red. Her feelings for Tholomyès, as a result of her experiences in Montreuil and 5 years of reflection, had warped into contempt for that man, and a general disdain to love in general.

“And _then_ you got the job at that factory, right?” Enrique whipped the horses.

“Truth be told, I didn’t actually have any plan back home. I was just hoping someone would remember me and give me a job, but that never happened, so the factory it was,” Her eyes drifted off to the bottom-left, “And then I got fired after the second year.”

Enrique huffed, “And now here you are. Four dead friends and branded a traitor. You’ve come quite the way.”

“I’ve lived through a lot of bad days after I got fired, but I don’t think anything can really compare to…”

Fantine coughed into her fist as a massive lump formed in her throat, preventing her from getting her thoughts out without her composure totally collapsing on the spot. The discussion wasn’t going anywhere, so she changed the topic, “S-so, what are the big cities of Spain like? So far we’ve only been to a literal ruin and an oversized garrison town.”

“You won’t find any really big cities this far inland. Most of them are all at the coast or along big rivers. So, mainly to the east and south. But there’s also Madrid, the capital. It’s sort of like Paris, but much newer of a city. You’d expect a massive empire to enrich its capital first and foremost, but Spain isn’t really much of an empire now, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“As we speak, the colonies in the Americas are fighting for independence. Some have already won. Others will probably win after a few years. Three years ago, there was supposed to be a fairly big army whose purpose was to put down the rebellions. But the leader of the army, Rafael del Riego, decided to reinstate the 1812 Constitution we wrote when Napoleon invaded. But ever since then, things never went well, and… well, here we are.”

“I swear you told me about this all before, but I forgot every bit of it.” Fantine chuckled light-heartedly.

“Ah, trust me, that’s me being brief. Had I mouthed off the entire history of this predicament we’re in, you’d be bored to tears.”

“Fortunately, I don’t have very many left to shed.”

“Hey,” He spoke slowly, and in a low tone, “The others wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself, so quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Quit shackling yourself to what happened on that bridge! Drouet and the others died fighting for something they believed in. We can’t change that or the past in general. All we can do is continue to live for ourselves and keep their memory alive.”

She felt as if she were slapped in the face, “And just forget about them? They were some of the best friends I’ve ever had! Why should I move on when everything they were working towards was taken from them?” Fantine shot Enrique an indignant glare.

“Look, if you can’t let the past go, then I’m sorry, but we’re never going to agree on this. End of story.”

“How? Is it really that difficult to admit that both of us had a part to play in their deaths?”

“Because us being there wouldn’t change anything other than getting our brains plastered over that bridge along with the others!”

“No! We could have stopped them or gotten them to come with us instead!”

“Yeah. We’re never going to agree. Let’s just give this a rest.”

* * *

No bloody kidding. This _was_ a desert. Zero vegetation. Rocks everywhere. Nothing living but them and the horses.

After a couple hours of travel, they had finally trekked up the mountain they rode towards. The steep cliffs and narrow pathways were nail bitingly perilous, but they crossed without much incident. And as soon as they reached the top, the rest of the plateau revealed itself, which, along with the stark blue sky, made for a scene straight out of North Africa, or the American (currently Mexican) Frontier.

Before them, stretched a vast, dead, valley of nothing but rock and dead vegetation. Over yonder, were massive, flat topped hills that were cut into by long dead rivers, as well as cliffs and other such wonderful things. The whole place looked as if time stopped more than a millennium ago.

It was also lonely. This was a desert among what was usually a lush green country. A _desert_. In Europe of all places. None of its brethren even existed on this continent of managed forests and tamed farmland.

Under the cracked earth, was a sentiment that had died in Western Europe soon after the start of the current millennium. No one else could possibly be here other than the odd traveller or so.

Who was going to be there to stop anyone from committing a crime? What laws existed here? What so-called enforcers of justice lived here? Where were the settlements?

Outside the odd hallucination, nothing else was here. Sometimes, Fantine would see what looked to be a figure on a horse. But she shook it off. Her thirst was going to drive her insane.

Both Fantine and Enrique had run out of water long ago. And their food supply was beginning to dwindle as well. Their horses looked quite fine despite their logistic issues, but what good was coming all the way up here if they were just going to die of dehydration instead?

“Should I just drink the wine?” Fantine asked, her voice raw. She stared voraciously at the few bottles of wine stuck near Old Marie.

“No.”

She pouted, “Then what was the point in buying four bottles of them?”

“In case one of us gets hurt. To disinfect the wound.”

“Oh.” Perhaps she should just lie down and shrivel away then. She hung her head behind her and filled her eyes up with the uncertain blue that stretched for forever up above her head.

Jesus… even staring at the sky made her thirsty.

“Hey, talk to me.” Enrique called, without looking back.

“About what?” Fantine asked, also unmoving.

“About whatever.”

“Alright. Let’s talk about water.”

“How about we don’t?”

“Fine. After we save your daughter, what happens then?”

“I’ll be going down to Cadiz. And I believe you’ll be returning to France somehow.”

“Somehow?”

“Yeah. Both of us are basically traitors, remember?”

“So, I don’t actually have a guaranteed passage back?”

“I told you already, we’ll be splitting the cash once we drive those bandits from whatever mountain they camp at. You can use it to bribe someone to get in, can’t you?”

“Yeah, but still…” her face fell into a pensive frown.

So that was it?

That’s how she loses her last friend?

Three of them leave her. One helps her exile herself. Four of them throw their lives away for politics. And now the last one just walks away after all they’ve been through.

To think that after all this, Enrique would end up being just another illusion to vanish from her life…

No, perhaps she was just thinking too much into it. Maybe she was just grasping at straws. Her thoughts were like that thin trail of smoke rising over above one of those valleys.

Wait just a minute…

Fantine fished out her binoculars and focused her attention on the smoke trail.

“Hey,” She spoke up, “Do you see that?”

And so, it can be left to the imagination on whatever a smoke trail can be at its base. No doubt I have confidence enough in my readers to put two and two together, but suffice it to say, the source of the smoke trail was a campsite. Shocking, I know.

It was located in sort of a nook right at the bottom of three fairly tall cliffs. But it must be important to remember that this isn’t your ordinary campsite. No, it was blocked off by one fairly decently built palisade. Now, it would be easy to assume that this was a hideout made for a gang of thieves, had it not been for the Spanish flag flying high above the wooden gateway.

This was a garrison of the Spanish Army. Or, more aptly put, a private militia in service of the Constitutional _Cortez_ (Parliament). For the men who stood guard here would be mistaken as bandits by any sane individual.

Unfortunately for our heroes, they decided that driving right next to the cliff would be a smart idea since it offered shelter from the evening sun but leaving them blind to what lay ahead.

“HEY, HEY, HEY!” One of the men stationing the makeshift fort commanded at the wagon that just passed into view, “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” He trained his musket on the two mutineers.

Enrique stopped the horses and raised his arms in the air, cursing at the predicament they now found themselves in. Fantine did the same.

“Alright! Get off and present yourselves!” He ordered.

The complied and stood at the front of the palisade, where there was a fairly wide entrance leading to what looked like an extremely barebones campground. But not much else was visible.

The man on the rampart yelled something in rapid-fire Spanish to his mates in the camp.

“What the _hell_ do we do now?” Fantine hissed with her arms up.

“Damn, I don’t bloody know… bah, I wish I kept one of the pistols with me, maybe then we would’ve been out of this predicament.” Enrique didn’t have much of a reaction to all of this. Talking one moment, then draining his face of any emotion the next once a gun was aimed at him.

“ _Really_? So, you’ve got no way to get us out of this?”

He clicked his tongue, “I don’t know, damn it! Maybe we can try to escape once they’re done with us.”

“Isn’t this the same thing you did back when we got mugged over near San Sebastián? Just lie there and take it?”

“That’s because it’s the best way to survive!”

“We were about to be _shot_ back then!”

Their bickering was cut short by the scampering of hooves on the cracked dirt, as a man – wearing a bright yellow uniform with blue facings, knee-high black boots, and a black bicorne atop his head – rode up to both mutineers.

“Both of you, shut up!” He barked in heavily lisped Spanish as he tried to stop his horse from running in circles.

Fantine wondered whether or not they could tell if they were French on sight. Both of them wore artillery uniforms, which were not of the stereotypical bright blue that most of the French infantrymen wore. Theirs was a darker shade of blue, which made it more akin to other nations.

Hold on just a moment… What specific nation wore dark blue colours on their uniforms again?

“Now then. Who the hell are you?” The soldier asked, dismounting his horse.

Enrique opened his mouth to speak, but Fantine beat him to the punch, “ _Mein Herr,_ we are Prussians!” Her face warped into a grin reaching up to her eyes. She nudged her friend.

Enrique shot her a confused look for a half-second, before snapping back to the man, “ _J-ja_ , we are here to erm, offer you our services!” He spoke in his best German accent in Spanish while bowing deeply.

The man stared at the two for what felt like an hour. There was an uncomfortable silence between the three that lasted far too long as Fantine began to feel her blood become colder every second that passed.

Until the man started wheezing out laughter, “Prussians!” He exclaimed while raising his arms away from him, “My friends! Come in! Come in!” He ushered the two inside with an alacrity that can only come from a squealing fan.

* * *

The three of them were seated next to the whimpering fireplace in the centre of the makeshift fort. As the sun descended the walls of the small valley glowed red with the singular light source. Thus, like moths to a flame, everyone inside the fort sat near the warmth of the fire. But it was also to escape the near winter temperatures that descended as the sun disappeared.

There were 10 men – boys, rather – all wearing some form of yellow coats over various undergarments, some of them being oversized. None of them wore breeches under their trousers, unlike both of our heroes and the officer that received them, who seemed to come from an entirely different world from his subordinates.

“My name is Emiliano de Cuenca y los Pirineos. Captain of the Constitutional Army,” The smartly dressed officer introduced himself over the jumping embers, “What brings you gentlemen all the way out here?”

“I am Sokrates… von Bierwurst, and this is my old friend, Platon von Schweinehund!” Enrique said, quickly introducing both of them, “We are just here because we support the Constitutional government and wanted to lend a hand.”

Fantine nodded, “That’s right, we are officers in the Prussian army! We are here to help train you!”

“REALLY!?” Emiliano almost squealed, “You’ll turn this useless rabble into a proper unit?”

Both Fantine and Enrique gave the other a questioning glance before turning back to their host and grinning.

“Sure.” Enrique said.

“AHA!” Emiliano shot up to his feet and addressed his men, “Everyone! Listen up! Starting tomorrow, you will follow the orders of these two excellent gentlemen! You will do as they say, without question! Am I in perfect accord with everyone here?”

The response from the militia boys was a low and unsynchronised murmur of acknowledgement.

“Good! Then get you sorry lot to bed!” He returned to the two mutineers, “Now then, have you gentlemen ever met the Field-Marshall von Blucher?”

That was a name both of them recognised. At this stage of history, the name Gebhard von Blucher was as recognisable as the Duke of Wellington among Napoleon’s chief opponents. He was among the allied commanders to enter the city of Paris with their armies and impose a military occupation there. Now, did our two heroes know the man?

“We are actually distant cousins of his.” Enrique lied.

“Wow! Really!? Hey, hey, hey, tell me. Did you know he used to serve Frederick the Great?”

“Um…”

Emiliano continued, “Frederick the Great! Now that’s a man for the ages, let me tell you! You know that man single-handedly held off an _unprecedented_ Russian invasion? All the while both the French _and_ the Swedes were actively invading!” He pinched his fingers together, “He was _this_ close to losing, until the Tsarina died!”

Fantine had no interest in this, so she excused herself to bring the wagon inside the fort.

They managed to get themselves out of that potentially lethal situation, but now, they were stuck in this camp for who knew how long. Outside the camp there was nothing like before. Except now covered with a shroud of darkness. The moon as well was almost completely gone. Only a tiny sliver of silver remained in the sky, which was quickly being taken over by the stars.

One of the world’s wonders that are lost on the working people of today’s world is the unmolested night sky.

The array of stars that blanketed the darkness was always there. The sky was actually a darker hue of blue than it usually was during the day, and unlike the pitch black that many in our century are accustomed to. Some of those tiny specks were bigger and brighter than others. Others looked to be faintly blue.

The most striking feature of the night sky was that band going around and encompassing the heavens entirely. The Milky Way was in full display of its finest majesty that night, glowing, even among the millions of stars that composed it.

In our own age, it seems we have replaced the wonder above us with the endless lights of a city at night. As if in our own hubris we shrouded off the natural wonder that is the starry sky and replaced it with the lights of our cities and roads.

The first thing Fantine did upon reaching the wagon was climb in the back and throw on her grey greatcoat. The temperatures were near freezing and staying without her coat for too long was going to bring her cough back. And she knew she didn’t have enough medicine stored to keep her on her toes if that happened.

‘And what was that medicine?’ you may ask. It was Laudanum. A person suffering from Fantine’s affliction would take it every night before sleeping. It was made of opium, but it did its job fairly well. Back when she first enlisted, it was Drouet who found her a doctor to see about her coughing, and ever since then, she never slept without taking her bi-daily dose. The one time she forgot to take it she felt horrible upon waking up and her skin crawled the entire rest of the day.

Now, to call her addicted would be engaging in hyperbole, but it would also be a lie to say she was immune to the addictive effects of laudanum. Which is why she stopped taking whole swigs from the bottle and instead took only a spoonful. Her reasoning being the fear of never waking up should she take too much. And the financial drain that buying a bottle would take. If drugs for a child suffering from Typhus amounted to 40 Francs, then there was no way she’d be able to continue affording her drugs every other day.

She pocketed the small bottle of laudanum and then drove the wagon inside the fort. Emiliano was still rambling something about History that Fantine had no interest in listening to, so she decided to lie down in the back of the wagon. She drifted off to sleep while staring up at the stars standing steady high above in the heavens. For the past few days, her thoughts busied themselves with vignettes of her lost friends, and she would cry herself to sleep thinking she was partly responsible. But now, she had no thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn I really wish I had the patience to keep writing. I had some action planned to the end of this chapter but I don't want to keep writing this extremely unwieldy chapter. Sorry. Not much happens here but the setup for the next chapter is done.
> 
> I really really really hope Fantine is at least somewhat in character. If anyone's reading, please let me know. Because this is my biggest concern going forward. Obviously, since this is an adventure story her character is going to change inevitably and that has already begun, but we're not even that far into the main story yet, and if she's not reasonably still in character, then that means I'm not doing that well.
> 
> Anyways, I'll go start writing the next chapter.


	9. Musketry - Respite - Der Alte Fritz - The Colonel - Firing Squad - Parting - Pity - The Falling Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been quite a while, hasn't it?  
> I swear, I've been writing this the whole time, it's just that there was a mix of both life and the fact that for 2 whole months I genuinely didn't know what to do with the story.  
> Anyway. Since I was really worried about how in character Fantine is, I decided to write down her main character traits and then write down all the things that could have possibly changed her behaviour. I don't know how well this worked, and I don't know how well in character she is, but I can not deny that I put in a genuine effort. 
> 
> Also, my writing may have gotten worse from the previous chapter thanks to that hiatus. I can only hope I get back up to speed with where I was before soon.

**Banderas Reales** **– 10 April 1823**

The fort was surrounded on all sides by steep cliffs, with the entrance resembling the shape of an igloo’s opening. The naturally defensive geography meant that the only structure that needed to be built was a flimsy wooden palisade with an entrance large enough to fit a carriage through. The inside of the fort was a saddening sight. To the left were the tents that the militia slept in (calling them ‘tents’ is an overstatement; rather, ragged tarps held up with sticks). To the right were the supplies (food, water, timber, etc.) and a pen full of a few donkeys and cows.

As the sun reached the very top of the sky Fantine and Enrique got to work peddling their charade as military advisors. Which meant sitting around a table in front of their host’s tent and giving advice as needed.

“You mean to tell me you only have _three_ muskets?” Enrique asked, “What kind of unit is this?”

Their host, Emiliano fiddled with his bicorne in his hand, “Eeeeeeh, well, I didn’t have enough time to properly outfit my men when I volunteered so I just had to make do with what I had on hand at my estate.”

Enrique pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a deep sigh, “Alright. Bring the guns here.”

Fantine decided to interject, “Perhaps we could lend them our own -”

“NO!” Enrique cut her off before she could finish, “No, no, no. Forget it. Go bring us your guns, mate.”

Their host scanned the two of them before complying with a nod and scrambling to retrieve his weapons.

“What was that all about?” Fantine asked, switching to French, “We brought a few muskets along, why not just lend them a few?”

“We’re pretending to be Prussians, but none of the guns we brought are from Prussia.”

“Oh… right,” She stopped for a moment to consider her thoughts, “Are you’re sure he’ll be able to tell them apart?”

“Well… fine, I’ll entertain this. Let’s speak as if he _does_ figure out immediately. In that case, our entire cover gets blown to bits right then and there.”

“Couldn’t we just say we purchased them before arriving here?”

“Oh.” Enrique’s face went blank and he stared at his boots, “I didn’t actually consider lying…”

She smiled, “Must be something I’m good at, I suppose?”

“I wouldn’t consider it to be something to be proud of, but you did just save our arses yesterday, so, make of it what you will.” He turned to face their host, returning from wherever.

“Herr Sokrates, Herr Platon! I’ve got them!” Emiliano returned with three worn out looking muskets resting in his arms. He offered one to each of the mutineers.

Both of the guns were terribly aged. The wood was coarse, and the colours were fading out. The metal was in similarly poor condition – parts of the firing mechanism were beginning to rust, and the hammer was difficult to pull back – almost rendering the thing useless save for the bayonet hanging loosely under the gun barrel.

“Emiliano, these are rubbish,” Enrique said, “Where did you get these?”

“Erm, well, my father likes to collect guns and he didn’t let me take any of the better ones.” Emiliano said.

“What about that one?” Fantine asked, referring to the musket still with Emiliano.

“Ah, right, this one!” He offered it to Fantine in return for the one she held, “I found it in my father’s storeroom. Don’t think it actually works though since, for the life of me, I just can’t seem to get the blasted thing to fire.”

It looked like an ordinary musket for the most part, save for the crank on one side. The lack of a wooden forestock under the barrel made it seem thinner than it was. On the side of the firing mechanism was what looked to be a coat of arms and a signature. It was in noticeably better condition than the other two, owing perhaps to it being Emiliano’s personal weapon.

“Can I see that?” Enrique asked before swapping weapons with Fantine. He scanned his eyes over the metal engravings, “This looks like it was made in England by someone named ‘J. Rigby’.”

“Well, I know that, of course!” Emiliano said, “I’m fairly certain my father has a few more of Rigby’s guns, so that’s not the only one.”

Enrique looked over at their host, “Yes, well, you mind if we held onto these? We’ll just let you all use the guns we brought along.”

“Oh, by all means, feel free! Now, can we start? I want them to start drilling right away.” The militia captain said with audible giddiness in his voice.

Why now?

“But, none of your men have eaten yet, have they?” Fantine asked.

“Bah, they don’t mind! Soldiers are there to follow orders. It’s the officers like us that are actually remembered in history.”

“…But they still need to eat, no?”

“No, they can endure. You know Frederick the Great’s men still followed him through to the end of both Silesian Wars, despite being woefully undersupplied and being on the back foot throughout.” He said, “Now, can we start handing out the guns yet?”

* * *

The common muskets used by France, and by Spain, and by Prussia, Britain, and the other major European powers were all unique in their own ways. Some of these unique qualities were more obvious, others subtle, but rarely did they differ much in operation. Thus, even the most emaciated beggars could be handed any musket and be expected to learn to fire in only an hour. The same was the case for Emiliano’s men.

The members of Emiliano’s militia group all came from his estate. Sons of labourers, maids, servants, and what have you. As such, only a fraction of the militiamen knew how to operate a musket. 200 years prior, this would be impossible to work with, but with the relative ease of use that came with modern flintlock muskets, even a rabble armed with only three guns could be viable in certain situations.

“Why were you so worried about the muskets anyway?” Fantine asked, sealing the lid on her canteen.

“Didn’t I already tell you? France and Prussia use different muskets.” Enrique answered.

The two mutineers began teaching the militia to operate their new guns soon after handing them all out. The goal was never to properly train the militia, rather, just get each man to fire off a one bullet and let them go about their day. Good enough for two artillerists. Downright laughable for military advisors. Had they been under the employ of anyone other than Emiliano, they would have been thrown out immediately.

The two met at the water casks to rest while Emiliano attempted to get his men to start marching in formation.

“Still, I don’t see why you’d worry so much about that. He never even bothered to ask.” Fantine said.

“Yeah well, I’m starting to wonder if I have a problem.” Enrique sighed.

“With what? Not thinking things through?”

“Uh, yeah. That.” He looked away.

“Something we both share then,” Fantine paused for a moment, and then abruptly changed subjects, “Hey, what’s the plan with this Manuel fellow you wanted to find?”

“Manuel de Villafuerte? Ah, you know, I initially thought we’d find him and force him to answer some questions, but now, with all of this, let’s just forget it and try to use this situation to our favour,” He tilted his head to the left in a gesture pointing towards Emiliano, “I want to see if we can get this buffoon to lend us a hand. We’ve got a cannon already, but – think about it – ten men armed with muskets would mean we wouldn’t be risking our lives!”

“Mm, alright. I just hope the name ‘Platon’ doesn’t stick if Emiliano comes with us.”

Enrique chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll come up with a worse name for you sometime soon.”

Both mutineers turned their heads to the centre of the camp, where Emiliano was scolding – rather loudly – one of the men under his command with unintelligible Spanish.

“Pfft, _Catalans_.” Enrique snickered.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“He’s from Catalonia, to the east. They speak a different language there, so they have an accent when they speak Spanish.”

“He has an accent? Sorry. All Spanish still sounds similar to me.”

“You’ve got one as well, you know?”

“Of course, I do. I’m still learning the language.”

“I meant your French. You’ve got sort of a northern accent when you speak.”

Fantine looked at him with a mind blown expression, “Wait, you can tell? How!?”

“Hah, it’s fairly noticeable once you catch on. Sometimes when you speak, you make the ‘ch’ sound where you shouldn’t. And that’s just one example.”

“I… actually thought I broke the habit long ago,” Fantine chuckled, “I used to speak a _Patois_ language we called _Ch’ti_ up in the North. Though I forgot most of it when I moved to Paris.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I suppose that was one of the hard parts of fitting in when I returned.” Her smile fell, “Christ… that must be why they didn’t like me much at the factory… I must’ve just been another Parisian in their eyes.”

“That’s to be expected. Speech is the second test of a foreigner right after appearance,” He replied, “As for me, I don’t really think I have an accent when it comes to Spanish. Most people in the government speak like I do.”

The government?

“You were that close to the people in government?”

“Um, I er…” Enrique stammered, “I… was. Yes. In a way.”

“What? Really? You never told me!”

“Well, you never asked… fine,” He said, “I’m from Madrid, the capital city. I worked in the home of a politician there. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“I didn’t really ask any further, but I suppose it does.” She said.

“Yeah, whatever,” He crossed his arms, “I’m going to go talk to Emiliano for a bit.”

* * *

The sky was as empty as it was the previous day and the air that morning was choked of all its moisture. There was no wind, and consequently, no sound. Despite the passage of time, here, in this decrepit hovel, buried deep within one of the most barren parts of the country, the world felt as if it had ground to a halt among the rocky terrain that now surrounded our heroine. As if life itself had become stagnant.

Fantine wondered what Cosette was doing as she paced around the fort. Doubtless she was out playing with whatever other children lived in that village, or in school, or doing chores, or whatever else children did aside from frolicking in joy or learning the ways of adults. A smile slowly formed, as she imagined the same girl that she held in her arms all those years ago now grown and sitting in a school. She could still remember her perfectly, even after this long and everything that happened in between.

Her face fell though, as a thought from the corner of her mind suddenly hijacked her attention: Cosette probably doesn’t even know what her mother looks like. Right!? She was but two years of age when they parted. And though Fantine could still perfectly picture the girl in her own head, she was just a child who only saw her mother as an infant. Whatever memories she had of her could have all been forgotten in favour of her own present reality. Should her mother never return… would Cosette’s life be any different?

No, no, no, that wouldn’t be the case! They were only a day away from their destination! All that needed to be done was to save Costanza and then she could finally be with Cosette!

No… but then, would Cosette even-

“…Frederick.” A girl’s voice pulled Fantine out of her trance. She found herself standing at the fort’s entrance where a girl in a fur coat sat, leaning against the wall, with a half-eaten tomato in one hand.

“I’m sorry?” Fantine asked, turning to face the girl sitting on the ground near the entrance. The girl’s new musket was slung over her shoulder, and a few cartridges of ammunition were sticking out of the pockets of her yellow pelisse coat. Under that she wore a pair of brown trousers and a plain white shirt, fully buttoned up. Nothing she wore was in particularly good condition, save for the pelisse coat, which was fantastically decorated with gold lace and lined with the fur of whatever unfortunate creature happened to be sacrificed for its production. She had empty, jet black eyes and dark brown, shoulder length hair tied up a ponytail with a red handkerchief. She looked to be about fifteen years of age.

“I said, you look sort of like that King Frederick.” The girl said, furrowing her brows a bit.

“Oh,” Fantine did her best to smile, “Is that right?”

The girl nodded her head.

“Why do you say that?”

“You just matched the image of him in my head, is all,” She said, “The Captain talks a lot about your country.”

“Does he?” Fantine asked, almost sarcastically.

She nodded, “He talks about King Frederick lot too.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m not very good with history, so I don’t know much about this King Frederick.”

“Oh.” She took a bite of her tomato.

“What’s your name?”

“Maria.” She said through a full mouth.

“Maria? You can just call me… Platon.”

She swallowed her food, “I’ll just call you _Señor_ Frederick, how’s that?”

“ _Mister Frederick_?” Fantine smiled, bemused, “I have to admit, it’s one of the better nicknames I’ve been given over the years. Albeit, a bit strange.”

“So, you _can_ actually smile. Here I was thinking you looked to be just as much of a mope as King Frederick.”

“A mope? Do I really come off that way to you?”

“Yeah. What else were you doing just now other than looking for pity?”

Oh, that makes sense. This whole past half-hour was just her finely chiselling a frown onto her face. Of course, she did that. It used to be so easy for her to smile for others and show off her teeth, but now… what happened to her?

Fantine fell silent, and Maria returned to eating her tomato. Over in the distance, past the entrance, was a flat-topped hill, sort of reminiscent of one of those apartment buildings common throughout the big cities of Europe. At the top, was faint figure that disappeared soon after being seen.

Fantine rubbed her eyes and looked again. Nothing this time. Must have just been a mirage like the horsemen she swore she saw while driving the wagon.

Maria didn’t seem to be much of a conversationalist, so Fantine took the initiative, “That’s a very fine coat you have.”

“It’s better than whatever you’ve got, anyway.” Maria smiled.

Fantine looked down at her grey greatcoat. She was issued it alongside her uniform shortly after enlisting. While, admittedly, it looked rather plain, it did its job well. She would have killed to have something like this in Montreuil. Well, technically she did. Never mind.

“I suppose it is,” She said, forcing a smile, “Your Captain allowed you enlist?”

“Enlist? I just sort of tagged along with the rest of the lads when the Captain rounded them up and forced them to join the war. He didn’t say anything against it, so here I am,” Maria said, “But that wannabe blue-blood idiot really loves to forget who he really is.”

“So, it was that easy for you?”

“… there’s more to it, but I’m not telling.”

“Well… alright then,” Fantine said, “By the way, have you ever seen anything strange from here?”

“Strange like how?”

“Like horses in the distance?”

“Um… it could just be some of the Colonel’s men keeping an eye on us.”

“Really? What Colonel?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Well… me. I-I’m just curious, is all!”

Maria narrowed her eyes, “I don’t remember his name, but the Captain said he’s supposed to be visiting sometime soon.”

“Ah, is that right?” Fantine grinned as she turned to leave, “Well, I should probably go help the others.”

Unbeknownst to our heroine, Maria’s eyes remained fixated on Fantine as she walked over to where Emiliano and Enrique stood, reviewing the militiamen.

* * *

“Frederick the Great, a mope? What sort of rubbish is being fed into your head?” Enrique asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, that’s what that girl, Maria, said.” Fantine replied, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets.

After “helping out” (read: standing around while Emiliano gave orders), the two “Prussian” officers convened in front of the wagon. Enrique was seated on the ground, leaned up against a wagon wheel, while Fantine stood, watching the militiamen go about their individual tasks. There was a pot placed over the central fire with two boys preparing the day’s meal.

“Girl? You mean one with the fur coat?”

Fantine nodded.

“Hm. Well, Frederick wasn’t really a mope. The word I would rather use is ‘dour’. Why’d you ask about him anyway? I was under the assumption that you can’t stand history.”

“For the record, I never said I disliked history. It’s just that I had to be subjected to hearing Emiliano rattle off about something I don’t know about,” She corrected, finding parallels between their host and a drunk Tholomyès, “And no, it’s nothing important. It’s just that I was compared to him, is all.”

“Pfft, really?” Enrique stopped himself from laughing, “In what way?”

“The expression on my face, I guess? What’s there to laugh at?”

“Nothing. Just the idea of being compared to a historical figure is funny to me.”

Both of the mutineers went quiet as they saw Emiliano approach the two.

“I do have to thank you both again for the help. Never in my wildest dreams would I expect my men to be trained by officers of the best army in Europe!”

“You’re welcome,” Fantine said through slightly nervous laughter, “Though, I suppose… my friend here did most of the work.”

“My commanding officer should be arriving sometime before the evening, and I would love for him to meet you two!”

Fantine looked over to Enrique, who was now standing, “Alright,” He said, but I’ve got a favour to ask of you.”

“Sure, what is it?” Emiliano asked.

“There’s a group of bandits holed up in La Rioja with some hostages and a large sum of money. If you could pledge us aid… then we promise you half of the cash that we find.”

Emiliano put a hand on his chin, “La Rioja’s kind of far though…”

“Come on, mate! It’s only a day’s journey! Think of it like this! It’ll be a trial by fire for your men, right? This is your chance to get actual, hands-on experience with war!”

“Bah! Alright, fine! I’ll come along,” Emiliano said, throwing his hands in the air, “Tell me more about these bandits.”

“The bandits? Well, they used to be one of those small-time _Juntas_ from the War, but after Napoleon left Spain, they turned to bushwhacking and extortion to make a living. You may not have heard of him, but they’re led by a guy named Manuel de Villafuerte.”

“De Villafuerte… by any chance do you mean _Colonel_ de Villafuerte?”

Enrique’s face went blank, “Excuse me?”

“Colonel de Villafuerte. He’s my commanding officer. The one who’s paying a visit today. Maybe they just have a similar name.”

Enrique’s posture had stiffened, as he looked behind Emiliano, over to the fort’s entrance. His mouth lay open, slightly, and, with a shuddering hand, grabbed Fantine’s arm.

“What?” Fantine asked, “What’s wrong?”

The sharp _crack_ of gunpowder erupting turned the heads of every soul trapped in the fort.

There, seated on horseback, was a martially dressed man with an unusually large bicorne atop his head. In his hands, a pistol, pointed upwards, obscured slightly by the cloud of smoke that slowly drifted to the ground like the winter snow. Behind him, stood two men on horseback, flanking their master like hawks. Each carried a carbine.

For a moment, the entire camp was silent. The sounds of men, busy with their daily routines all dropped dead to stare at the newcomers making their entrance.

It was Emiliano who broke the silence by briskly approaching the newcomer, “Captain Emiliano Balmes!”

The man let his pistol fall on his finger and put it away inside his coat, “I am Colonel Manuel de Villafuerte” His voice was like that of a crocodile.

“That was quite the entrance, _señor_.” Emiliano grinned.

Villafuerte briefly smiled back before his expression fell into one of disdain, “I understand you are harbouring two Frenchmen here. Bring them to me.”

“I am sorry?”

The Colonel narrowed his eyes, “I had a scout tailing two French soldiers on a wagon and they disappeared right in the vicinity of this dung heap. I’m going to say this one last time before I have you shot for treason. Bring them here.”

“B-but _señor_ , we didn’t encounter any Frenchmen! Only two Prussians!”

“What?” There was a look of incredulity on Villafuerte’s face, “Bring them here then.”

Emiliano quickly saluted his superior and returned to the “Prussians” in his midst.

Over by the wagon, both mutineers watched as their entire charade shattered into little tiny bits and pieces of lies.

“Hahaha… God must be _fucking_ with us now…” Enrique muttered as he let go of Fantine’s arm. He held the side of the wagon in order to catch his bearings.

“H-hey, you have a plan, right? We could just take the horses and leave… right?”

He shook his head, “Fantine… I think this is the end of the line… there’s nothing we can do any more.”

She felt her heart drop like a boulder. Seeing her only friend in this bad of a state was… disheartening to say the absolute least. Suddenly the man on the horse was now an unknowable… thing. It seemed to her that his face had contorted into something beyond recognition. A strange amalgamation of teeth, hair, skin, and flesh, staring directly at her. Something that truly terrified her, just as it had terrified her friend.

Emiliano approached the two with an uneasy aura around him, “Herr Platon, Herr Sokrates, it looks like there is some kind of a misunderstanding. Erm… why don’t you come over and introduce yourselves to the Colonel?”

Fantine snapped back to reality and forced a grin, “Look, we… we probably should have left a while ago, so why don’t we just take our leave?”

“The Colonel alleges that you two are Frenchmen, so, I’m sure clearing this up will prevent any problems in the future, no?” Emiliano responded. The concern in his voice was audible.

“But I’m sure that-”

“No. Let’s see him,” Enrique said, cutting her off, “I’m sure that bastard has a lot he wants to say to me.”

“Are… are you sure?” Fantine asked, feeling further perturbed by Enrique’s sudden change of demeanour.

“Well, follow me then.” Emiliano turned, gesturing the both to follow.

As they walked up to the Colonel, Fantine couldn’t help but notice Enrique had reverted to that almost catatonic state he was in when they were being mugged, or when they were held up just the other day by one of Emiliano’s men.

The two of them stood side-by-side in front of Villafuerte’s dapple grey horse. The man himself peered down at them with a bemused grin, “So, these are the two men you insist are Prussians, Captain?”

“Well, yes! Haha… erm… This is Platon and the other is Sokrates. They’ve told me they were Prussians, and they even drilled my men in their style! I’m fairly certain this is just a mistake, Colonel.” Emiliano said while wringing his hands.

“Is that right?” Villafuerte turned to Fantine, “I want you to introduce yourself, ‘Prussian’.”

Fantine felt every ounce of blood in her body freeze up. Both Villafuerte and Emiliano’s gazes felt suffocating. She turned to Enrique, who didn’t even have an expression on his face.

Meeting Villafuerte’s gaze, she steadied her breath and began as calmly as she could, “My name is Ulysse-Fantine Dupin. We were with the Royal Army, but we mutinied at the border.”

“You carry a sword.” Villafuerte said, noting the sabre that hung low behind her legs.

Emiliano looked as if he was just slapped in the face, “B-b-b-but I thought you- what?! You… you, you, you lied to me?!”

“Can you actually use it?” The Colonel asked, ignoring Emiliano’s shocked mumbling, “The Sabre.”

Fantine was hesitant to answer, but she nodded anyway.

“Very well. I would ask your dear comrade next to you to introduce himself as well, but I don’t think his cowardice will let him. Is that right, Quique?”

Enrique lifted his head to face the Colonel, assumedly in response to the name ‘Quique’.

“No, it’s just I find it hard to actually picture you in a serious leadership position.” He said.

“And here I was worried something happened when you stopped sending money,” Villafuerte scoffed, “ _Monsieur_ Dupin, I almost feel sorry for you. Being stupid enough to get dragged along with this buffoon must be a terrible mental deficiency to live with.”

She didn’t reply. So, Villafuerte continued, “So, how long has it been, Quique? Six years since we’ve last spoken?”

“Five,” Enrique said, “It’s been five years.”

“Ah! Right! Five years already! Time sure does fly, doesn’t it?”

“You always loved to dance with your words. Get to the point, Manuel.”

“My apologies!” He chuckled, “You know, thanks to that girl Costanza, I was able to get a commissioned role in the army! And once the King comes back, I’ll use her to get a spot in the government! How about that? Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I offer you my deepest well of gratitude for being such a bloody coward you gave up on taking the damn girl with you when running to France!”

“Is that right? Then I may be a coward, but the way you had Louis killed was worse than cowardice.” Enrique said.

“Watching you speak while looking like this makes me gag,” Villafuerte said, “But I’m glad to see that you’ve hardly changed since our days with the Junta.”

Junta? Enrique was in one of the Juntas?

“So, why’re you here anyway?” Enrique asked.

“Oh, no reason. Just a scout of mine happened on one of our rackets dropping my name to a customer and – what do you know – it leads right two you two. Quite the coincidence, is it not?”

Fantine felt a mixed feeling of disgust and dread eat away at her insides, “Then… that man… that was…?”

“You want to see who told me all this, do you?” Villafuerte said, turning to Fantine. He stuck his index finger and thumb in his mouth and whistled.

The sound of hooves against the cracked dirt could be heard from behind the Colonel, until an old man seated atop a brown nag took his place next to his superior.

Fantine felt her knees go weak at the sight of the man. There was that old man she saved in Pamplona! To think he was a spy all along!

Villafuerte burst into a fit of laughter on seeing Fantine’s absolutely mind broken face, “Oh… hahahahaha! To think that if you didn’t get involved then, neither of you would be in this position right now!”

“B-but… I-I felt that it was…”

Fantine’s mumbling was drowned out by Villafuerte’s laughter. He composed himself and turned back to Enrique, “You know, I’ve been meaning to get into writing comedies for stage. And thanks to you two, I’ve got enough material for the rest of my life!” He resumed his wheezy laughter.

A smirk formed on Enrique’s face, “Is that right? You know you’re quite the character too. I found it pretty funny how you kept holding grudges against me and Louis, even after the war ended.” Enrique chuckled, which turned into giggling laughter.

“What was that?” Villafuerte said, as he slowly got off his horse. The jocular aura around him had dissipated almost on will and was replaced by something far more serious.

“You’re a petty bastard like you’ve always been.”

“Is that right? Petty?”

The Colonel pulled his pistol out by the barrel and bashed the butt against Enrique’s cheek.

With a cry of pain, Enrique collapsed to the side on his knees, while holding his mouth in his hand. There wasn’t any blood yet, but there was going to be. His eyes were fixated on his assailant.

“It was because of you they’re all dead!”

Villafuerte struck him again in the forehead and landed a kick that sent his victim to the ground, face first. “You and Louis both… both goddamn cowards!” He put away his pistol and descended on Enrique with his fists.

Fantine was too scared to do anything, other than tightly grip her scabbard with her right hand. Her thoughts were void. The highly personal conversation had lost her, and she was left only confused and terrified as her friend was pummelled.

Until she could no longer stand the sight. With her left hand, she unsheathed her sabre and held it forward, facing Villafuerte.

She took a deep breath, “Get off of him!”

The Colonel stopped his brutalizing of Enrique and looked at Fantine from over his shoulder with the eyes of a madman seduced by lady wrath. Like the stare of a vulture, staring into the eyes of a rival while picking apart at its prey. It wasn’t the eyes of man, but of the personification of a word. That word: rancour.

This was it. Just a single swing of her blade would cut deep into her foe. All she needed to do was act. Just a single cut. She just needed to attack him once and Enrique would be safe!

She gripped the hilt as tightly as she could and raised her sword arm above her head.

But what if she killed him?

Victurnien’s corpse reappeared in her head, this time, with cuts deep in her flesh, her limbs hacked off and strewn across a cobbled floor, which was flowing red with her blood.

The _crack_ of a gun going off, and a bullet hitting the ground near her feet pulled her from her focus. One of the men accompanying Villafuerte had fired off his carbine, almost hitting her leg.

The other man trained his carbine on Fantine, “Put the sword away!”

Seeing the situation that she was in, she dropped her sword-hand to her side and let go of the blade, letting it clang against the earth.

“To think, you almost had me there. You can always count on a coward to miss their chance,” Villafuerte said, standing up. He kicked Enrique one last time and returned to his horse, “Captain Balmes!” He said, addressing Emiliano.

“ _Señor_!” Emiliano said.

“I want these two dastards shot! Maybe then I will consider not stripping you of your rank! I’m leaving the old man here to make sure you do it!” He mounted his horse and turned to Fantine, “And I want him buried with that sword of his.”

“M-my rank? But _señor_! I was tricked!”

Villafuerte had already turned around and began leaving with his two wingmen following closely behind.

Emiliano first glanced at the old spy, who was getting off his horse, and then to Fantine, who was helping Enrique stand up.

The sight of the two artillerists caused Emiliano to grind his teeth, “You god damned liars! Do you have any _fucking_ idea how hard I worked for this job!? How much I dreamed to finally be here!?”

Enrique spat blood out of his mouth while Fantine helped him stand with her shoulder.

Fantine spoke, “We… we made a mistake, Emiliano. I…”

The militia captain cut her off, “Shut up! I don’t want to hear anything more out of you two bloody bastards!” He turned to his subordinates, “Everyone! Line them against the wall and shoot them!”

There was little response from his men, until a few of them walked up to the two mutineers.

* * *

Both Fantine and Enrique were stood against the palisade wall near the entrance. Enrique seemed mostly fine after the half-hour that passed between now and his beating. He held his Shako by its chinstrap by his side. His face was like that of an empty shell. His gaze lay firmly on the ground, and his mouth drooped slightly downward.

Emiliano stood back alongside Villafuerte’s scout, with his arms and eyes crossed. He ordered Fantine to be shot first.

Five members of the militia were selected to the firing squad. Among them, was Maria, who’s yellow pelisse coat was beginning to match the sky.

While, normally, when in a stressful situation, our hearts begin beating faster, for Fantine, her heart felt as if it were a dam bursting. She could feel her heart’s beat throughout every one of her arteries. She could even feel the cold feeling of dread down to her toes.

As the sun finally began to dip against the cliffs ahead of her, and as the blue turned to purple, the air also began to cool. But despite that, she was forced to take off her greatcoat. In her hand she held her sword’s scabbard, wrapped in the leather belt it once hung off.

One of the militia boys approached with her sword and dropped it at her feet, before returning to the other bystanders.

“Load!” Emiliano shouted.

He almost sounded like Drouet there…

It wouldn’t be long until their reunion, would it?

She wished she tried to help her fallen comrades. She wished she didn’t kill Victurnien. She wished she was more careful at the factory. She wished she never left Cosette. She wished she never left Paris. She wished… no. She could review each and every single one of her regrets, but that wouldn’t change the present, would it?

Cosette’s infant face filled her thoughts. She couldn’t help but realise she was right before. Cosette’s life wasn’t going to change after this. She had her own family in that town that cared for her enough to request money from her mother out of desperation. There wasn’t any need to have any regrets. She may have suffered this much for her sake, but in the end, if Cosette was still happy despite her mother’s death… then it was fine. That’s all that ultimately matters.

Fantine’s face was flowing with tears, but her face never crumpled. There’s nothing to say now. Nowhere to run, no lies to tell, no charade to play.

“Say your last words!” Emiliano ordered.

Last words… there would be too many… but:

“I want… I want to apologise to… to my daughter,” She said through sniffles, without her voice falling apart, “I wasn’t able to…”

Emiliano cut her off, “Alright, that’s enough! Get ready to fire!”

All of the militia members took aim, save for Maria, who kept her barren eyes trained on Fantine’s face.

She pulled back the hammer on her musket and turned around, facing Emiliano, “I’m not doing anything, Captain.”

“What!?”

Fantine and Enrique’s faces turned up to look at the ongoing incident.

The other militia boys had put down their guns and turned as well.

“You want to get shot too, you ungrateful vagrant!?” Emiliano threatened.

“No one is shooting anyone here. I think it’s about time you realised we aren’t some tools you pick up to work your dream job.”

“I want everyone to aim at Maria!” The captain said, pointing at the girl.

There was no response from the militiamen.

“Looks like no one wants to listen to you, eh, Emil?” Maria took aim of her musket in Emiliano’s direction, “Now, just stay right there.”

* * *

After the foiled execution, both Emiliano and the old spy had been tied, hands and legs and left on the ground. The militia boys all went to either gather their things or prepare the donkeys to travel home.

Fantine vomited as soon as the ordeal was over. The feeling of nausea lingered, but after throwing up it felt as if the dread also left her. She was no stranger to the cold touch of death, but this time, it was a full embrace instead.

Enrique was still in a sort of stupor, where he was seated on the ground, staring ahead at nothing.

She wiped the tear trails off her face and picked up her sword, sliding it into its steel scabbard. She shot a concerned glance at Enrique, who met her eyes without moving his head.

“Mister Frederick.” Maria’s voice almost startled her. The girl slung her musket over her shoulder as she approached.

“Oh. It’s just you.” Fantine said, turning to face their benefactor.

Maria paused to study Fantine’s face.

“You’ll be alright,” She said, “If you’re working for your daughter’s sake, I’d imagine you’re not the coward that man thinks you are.”

Fantine felt her heart flutter from the comment.

“Thank you, Maria.” A gentle smile on her face.

“My dad did the same thing as you. He was a hussar during the War. This coat is all I have left of him.”

“I’m really sorry. And I don’t really know if I can ever properly thank you for all this.”

“You don’t need to. That idiot Emiliano had it coming to him anyway. He dragged most of these lads here because he wanted to lead soldiers in a war, and now all of us are, being ordered around and starved.”

“So, what will you do now?”

“Leave. No point in sticking around here. What about you?”

“Well…” She looked over at Enrique, who still hadn’t budged from his seat, “We’re headed west. To La Rioja. And then I’ll probably need to find a way to return home… wherever that is.”

“I’m going south. Guess this will be farewell then.”

“Yeah, it seems like it.”

“Thanks for the musket. You don’t know how much of a help this is.”

Fantine noticed that something had caused her usually harsh, black eyes to soften, but the cause of that remained elusive.

“Why do you need it anyway?”

Maria took a moment to stare at Fantine’s face again before answering, “You know, growing up, most of King Frederick’s personal problems came from Austria. So, when he became King, he attacked them and took his revenge,” Her brows fell, “In a way, I want to do the same.”

There wasn’t anything else to talk about, so both women bid their farewells. Maria left in the direction of the old scout’s nag.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Enrique said, causing Fantine snap around to face him.

“No, it’s fine. You’ve probably seen me get beat worse by Gaspard.” She said, approaching him.

“I don’t think anything you did ever landed you in this much heat.” He said, briefly smiling.

Fantine offered him her hand, “You can get up, right?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed her wrist and was pulled up to stand.

“I never knew there was such a history between you and that man.”

“Well, I never figured he’d be a damn Colonel in the army,” He crossed his arms, “Still… I do have to admit, I was never being entirely honest with you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked, repeating that same line that was asked of her so many times in the past year.

“Yeah,” He said, looking over to the wagon, “I’ll tell you everything. Let’s just get out of here first.”

* * *

“It’s you.” Fantine said, without emotion as she looked down at the old man she saved in Pamplona.

He lay on his side while tied up. And unlike Emiliano, who was throwing a constant fit, he remained silent. He looked up at her without moving his head. She stared back at him.

After a while not saying anything, she sighed, “I wonder what would have happened if I never bothered to save you,” She rested her right hand on her sabre’s pommel. She opened her mouth to continue speaking, but no words left her lips. In reality, she just wanted to look at his face. To take in what a traitor looks like, because, in essence, she was staring at someone not terribly unlike herself,

She eventually found her words, “Perhaps you would have just died without the label. Remembered for something other than a traitor.”

The man said nothing.

“But I imagine you did it for a reason, right?”

No response. But the man’s eyes were now fixated on her.

There was nothing else for her here, so she turned to leave.

Until she was almost tripped by Emiliano using his feet to try and stop her, “You! I remember your name, you bastard!”

She shot a cursory look at the man, and resumed her path, not paying him any heed.

“You’re Dupin, right?! That’s you’re name, right?! Ulysse Dupin! I’m going to remember that!”

* * *

The wind had begun to kick up by the time both Fantine and Enrique left the now defunct fort, removing that stagnant atmosphere that pervaded throughout the day. The orange-gold rays of the sun blanketed the rocky environs of the Banderas Reales. Even the plateau over in the distance glowed magnificently, as if being granted kingship by the sun itself. The grooves and ridges that cut into the side of the hills had also come to life like the cracks within the paint of a museum piece.

Fantine was seated atop her dark brown Hanoverian, with one of the three muskets they traded for in her hands.

Emiliano’s horse turned out to be a work horse and was suitable enough to replace Fantine’s Hanoverian, which was sorely unsuited to the work it was given the past few days.

Now, fully saddled and fitted, it gleefully trotted alongside the wagon as the rocky hills that surrounded them slowly drifted away.

“You know,” Fantine pulled off her Shako and tossed it in the back of the wagon, “Do you think these guns will be any use?”

“That one you’ve got and the other one like it are probably only good for its bayonet. But that Rigby one likely works fine. We just need to figure out how to use it.” Enrique replied.

“I see,” She said, “You sound like you’ve gotten over everything.”

“Hah. I wish,” He smiled, “I brought us here thinking we’d find Manuel and force him to talk. Imagine my surprise when the very opposite happens just as soon as I came up with another plan.”

“Well, we’ve only got one day left to go ‘til we save Costanza, right?”

Enrique whipped the horses and didn’t reply. His face had fallen, and his eyes only stared ahead.

“Enrique?”

He sighed, “… Costanza isn’t my daughter.”

_What?_

“Huh? What do you mean she’s not your daughter?”

“She’s not. She’s the daughter of Louis Charles, the last King of France’s son.” He said, “And her real name is Constance. Everyone just calls her Costanza since her governess was Italian.”

“What? Louis Charles the _Dauphin_?! The one that died during the revolution?”

“I’ve got proof,” Enrique pulled his greatcoat from the back of the wagon and dug into one of the pockets, and pulled out a silver, star shaped medallion, “This is the Order of the Holy Spirit. It was his.”

“This is like one of those medals that the generals all wear, right?”

“Yeah, sort of, except this is the _highest_ award in France.” He said, handing it to Fantine.

“Gadzooks…” She held it up against the sun, “This is really beautiful…”

The medallion was shaped like a multi-pointed cross, giving it its star-like shape. In the centre was a downwards facing bird, seemingly in flight. It was made of silver, and nothing else. No further embellishments were added. On the back was a date.

“1792,” She read aloud, “… Enrique, do you support the King?”

He raised an eyebrow, “No. Why? Did you think I did?”

“It was just a thought.” She said, handing back the medallion.

“If I were a Royalist, I would’ve ratted out on Drouet and the others and then told as many people as I could that Louis Charles’ daughter was trapped in some hovel in the mountains.”

“Oh. Right. I don’t really know much politics, so…” She trailed off.

“I suppose you want to hear why this all happened, right?”

She nodded.

“I worked as an errand runner for him, Louis. This was back when he worked in Madrid and the war hadn’t started yet. I guess, back in those days, things were fairly simple, at least for me. He would ask me to buy something or pass a message down to someone else and I would get paid. That’s how I spent my childhood, for the most part.”

“So how about that _Junta_ you joined?”

“Well, Louis was the one that made it. I just tagged along since I didn’t have anyone else,” He said, “That’s when I met Manuel. We used to get along fairly well at first, but… well… a few of his friends were killed in action and he ended up blaming me since I was the only one that survived. And then, seeing that I was close to Louis, he ended up resenting him too.”

“So, that’s why he started beating you to the ground?”

“No. He just did that because he’s really proud of himself,” He said, “You can boil down most people’s issues to pride, almost exclusively.”

“But is pride really that bad? I’m quite proud of a few things yet I never had much of a problem with it.”

“Let’s not go down this road. This is a whole philosophical discussion that neither you, nor I are equipped to handle.”

“… Alright, fine. Just continue then.”

“Right, so, once the war ended, Manuel probably convinced a few of our other comrades to kill Louis. And when that happened, I tried taking Costanza with me and run to France, but Manuel already had her, so all I could do was run away empty handed.”

“And now that brings us here, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah… but, there’s a bit more I want to say. About Costanza specifically,” He said, “If people find out she’s the daughter of Louis Charles… then I have no doubt in my mind the rest of her life will be spent in the misery that is being a living chess piece in either Madrid, or perhaps Paris; to be married off on political principle. I don’t want that for her.”

He continued, “Her father’s early life was spent in both the highest luxury and most decrepit squalor simply based on the political class he belonged to. Even if he wished to return to France, I can’t in good faith wish that sort of life upon her.”

Fantine stared at his face for a bit.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. It’s just that after hearing all that, it feels as if you really are Costanza’s father.”

Enrique’s lips turned upward slightly. It was a sad smile, but a smile, nonetheless.

“Thanks, Fantine,” He said, “You know, even though I hide it really well, I’m still am coward.”

“What are you saying?”

“The entire time since I arrived in France, I’ve been obsessed with how I just ran from everything instead of acting to save Louis. It’s been a constant source of shame for me. Every time I’d receive a letter from Villafuerte, it would be another reminder of how I failed back then.” He rested his elbow on his knee and covered his face with his free hand, “Up until today, I was fine with dying or getting killed, so long as I was at least trying to save Costanza, it was enough for me.”

What? So, when they were getting mugged by that highwayman, he was fine with just getting killed?

“But I- I don’t understand, you… back then…”

He cut her off, “I only really noticed how stupid I was being when you were about to be shot today,” His voice began to crack, “I dragged you out here with me just to burden you with my problems… I… I’m such a coward…”

He stopped speaking after that. His face remained unmoving inside his hand.

By now, the sun was beginning to fall, and the sky was being to be painted purple. The light was falling as well, sufficiently hiding the tears that were leaking out of Enrique’s hand.

Fantine coughed into her arm, “Enrique, I don’t care if you’re a coward,” She said, “You’re my only friend still alive, and besides, I’ve followed you this far already, haven’t I?”

Enrique didn’t respond. Fantine sighed and looked forward at the vast expanse of rocks that lay ahead of them. Following the light of the setting sun, they continued their journey westward.

The night would be cold, and neither of them had a tinderbox with which to light a fire. Fantine could only hope her respiratory ills didn’t return overnight.

She pulled out her bottle of laudanum and took a small sip. She shuddered at the bitter taste.

Tomorrow would be the last day. And then, she could be with Cosette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so the last few parts of this were definitely rushed to hell and back. I don't really care much how they turned out though, since I'm just glad this fucking chapter is over and done with.  
> I had a lot of trouble figuring out what to do. In part because when I wrote the previous three chapters, I went, "HEY, there's a desert here! Let's drag the plot over here so I can use western tropes!"  
> Well, I barely got to use any of those western tropes. Maybe I'll have another chance, since there's still one other desert that's as big as the Banderas Reales. 
> 
> Right, historical stuff:  
> France, Britain, Spain, Austria, Prussia, everyone used different models of muskets. England used the Brown Bess, France used the Charleville musket and Spain used their own. Unlike the others, theirs was an obsolete model called the "Miquelet" lock, which was a different form of flintlock. Incidentally, the Prussian Potsdam musket was actually based on the French variants, making it very similar. But there's one thing that French muskets had that were unique to them: For some preposterous reason, the bayonet was placed above the musket barrel, rather than below it. Weird, I know.  
> That thin gun they bring up in the first part? We'll get back to that later.
> 
> One last thing: I shoehorned in some eldritch shit in the middle of this chapter. I don't know how well it fits the scene, or how appropriate it is, but I wanted to try my hand at writing something like that.


End file.
